


And I Went Home

by hesterbyrde



Series: And the Devil Makes Three [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Spoilers, American Sign Language, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Deaf Clint Barton, Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Multi, No Spoilers, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Red Room, Sign Language, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-30 17:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3945385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesterbyrde/pseuds/hesterbyrde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you know then, sir? What would happen?” Clint asked with an uncharacteristically shy smile.</p><p>“Y'know, I get asked that a lot. Usually by Coulson.” Fury mused. “I'll tell you what I tell him. I hope for the best, and make do with what I get. Sometimes the gamble pays out. This time I got Strike Team Delta. The finest tactician in US military history. A marksman without peer in the world. And an assassin that could probably kill me with a piece of scotch tape. It is even greater than my wildest hope.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Only Soul I Ever Saved

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains no spoilers for any of the Marvel movies or Agents of SHIELD. It concerns the formation of Strike Team Delta.
> 
> The fic title and chapter titles are taken from the song "Chasing Twisters" by Delta Rae
> 
> In addition to explicit sexual content, this story deals with PTSD and panic attacks. While it is discussed throughout, there will be a big fat warning on the chapters where panic attacks occur. Also, I'm writing Clint as deaf. I am not deaf, nor am I fluent in ASL (I learned some when I was a kid) so if I've made any mistakes, please let me know and I'll endeavor to correct them.
> 
> I'm finished writing this one, so chapters should be coming out every few days to a week at most. Feedback is always appreciated! Hope you enjoy!

When the extraction was complete and the plane was in the air, Phil could do nothing but bow his head into his palms and moan aloud. He didn't even care that his comm wasn't muted. He was certain everyone that could hear him was thinking the same thing.

What the fuck just happened?

Their op had been a part of a larger objective that had simple parameters. Eliminate the assassins from the Red Room. Agent Barton and his support team had been assigned the last and most dangerous: The Black Widow, otherwise known by variations of the name Natasha Romanoff. Barton had found her in Moscow, tailed her to a location generally free of civilians, and lined up the shot. All by the book. She had seen him and just stood there in the open, knowing she had no where to run. She didn't surrender. Nor did she try to make a last stand, which Phil had to admit was what they were expecting. She just stopped running.

It was going to be nice and clean.

And then, instead of taking the shot, Clint had just stood up. Just stood the fuck up right out of cover and walked out to her. Just merrily strolled right the fuck up to the most wanted and dangerous person alive. Coulson hadn't been able to see Clint's face, but he could see hers, lovely cat-like features flushed and contorted into the frenetic panic of a cornered animal. Not even the best spy could fake that. But she was still standing, not deigning to cower in her last moments. That was what terrified Coulson.

And then Barton had said something (and fuck if Coulson wasn't going to learn some Russian after this mess got sorted out.) and she nodded. A tremoring, wide-eyed assent before she sank to her knees and allowed Barton to disarm and cuff her. All the while, Coulson was barking orders and questions which received no answer.

“I've got her.” Came the only reply, once the cuffs were in place and he was hauling her to her feet. “Headed to the rendez-vous now. Tell them it's a party of two. Barton out.”

Phil had only been able to watch as the whole thing unfolded and he was utterly dumbfounded. Clint was brash. He was known for considering orders and plans to be occasionally... pliable. But this was beyond the pale even for him. This was not a capture mission. His orders had been specific. Eliminate the Black Widow. Eliminate meaning “kill” not “capture.” Their extraction team wasn't even remotely prepared to transport someone as dangerous as Romanoff. There might not even be a place to take her. This was not over. Not by a long shot.

Coulson heard a distant boom in the building, and then another one, louder and closer. 

Oh shit. Definitely not over. Coulson braced for impact knowing that The Director was about to earn his surname.

“WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED!” Director Fury roared as he slammed through the door of Coulson's operation room. Coulson went to stand, and got caught on his headset, wrenching his neck. “You get his ass on the line and ask him what the fuck he is thinking!”

“Yes, I'm looking forward to asking him that, sir,” Coulson replied, fighting like hell to keep his voice even as he awkwardly pawed the headset the rest of the way off his head. “but Agent Barton has turned off his comm.”

“He did WHAT now?” Fury fumed. “Coulson, I assigned you as his handler because I thought you could keep him in line. Even when you started fucking him, I left it alone because you two are good together, and I felt like I could trust you to be professional. But this is making me seriously question the wisdom of that.”

“Again, sir, with all due resp-”

“Fuck that bullshit, Coulson. We are way past the point where formal ass-kissery will save you or your pet bird. What. The fuck. Just happened out there. Barton's orders were clear. Kill the Widow. Why is he suddenly into bug collecting?”

“Again, sir,” he chewed on the word to make sure Fury knew it wasn't just a formality. “Your questions are the same as mine. I don't know what happened. One second, Agent Barton was lining up the shot on the Black Widow. Next, he's walking towards her speaking Russian. Replay the comm tape. You'll hear pretty clearly that he didn't consult with me.”

“Any idea what he said?”

“No, sir. I don't speak Russian.”

“You need to learn Russian, apparently.”

“I agree with that assessment.”

“I'll get my translators on it.” Fury glowered at Coulson. He was still livid, but he was at least certain that Coulson wasn't in on whatever stunt Barton just pulled. He sighed heavily, hands on his hips. “What time are they due back?” he asked, his voice a little calmer.

Coulson's eyes flicked to the computer screens at his station. “We're looking at around eight hours, sir.”

“That the best you can do?”

“Yes. Speaking personally, sir, I don't want my boyfriend trapped in a flying metal tube with the deadliest assassin on record any longer than he has to be.”

Fury snorted, and his mouth threatened to make him smile against his will. “Arrange a full level seven security team to meet the plane when it arrives. Romanoff is to be taken directly to our secure holding cells in the lower level of the Triskelion. Tomorrow, we will begin full physical and psych eval assuming she doesn't murder everyone in a ten block radius the instant she arrives. Then... well. Well, I don't know what then.”

“I'll take her there myse-”

“No, you won't.” Fury cut him off. “You'll be in my office when they touch down. Leave word with the security team that Barton is to come directly to me. I don't want either of you to have contact until then, unless there's an emergency in the air.”

“Understood, sir.” Coulson said, not bothering to keep some amount of worry and disappointment from showing on his face.

“I'm sorry, Agent Coulson. But until we can clear up what just happened in Moscow, I need you and Barton to not have any contact, outside of an emergency in transit.”

“I understand, Director.” Coulson replied with a nod, schooling his expression as he spoke. “I'll contact his pilot and get to work on those security arrangements.”

Fury nodded curtly and swept out of the operations room. Coulson sank back down into his chair and returned his face to his hands, staring blankly out from between his fingers.

Sometimes Clint was more trouble than he was worth.

But only sometimes...

***

Eight hours later Coulson was pacing like a caged animal in the Director's office. Fury alternated between standing menacingly in silhouette against the picture window, and sitting at his desk, observing Coulson's nervous habits.

“You really have no idea why he went off script, do you?” he asked, with some genuine amusement tinging his voice.

“Do you think I'm lying?” Phil snapped, his pacing never faltering.

“Well, the reason we have that rule against fraternization is because of situations like this. Everyone says they'll keep it professional, but really... has that ever stopped anyone from lying to protect someone they care about? And we are all very good liars.” He paused, pressing his lips together. “I trust you, Agent Coulson. Probably more than I do most agents at your security level, and even the majority above. So, while I'm fairly certain you didn't know anything about this craziness. I had to at least consider it until I heard the comms recording. Nothing personal.”

Coulson snorted and was about to retort when the door opened.

Clint Barton, still wearing his combat gear, was escorted through the door by two security officers, who Fury thanked and dismissed with a simple nod.

Barton looked like hell. Not physically. There didn't look to be a scratch on him, and why would there be? He'd had to do some climbing, but he didn't see any combat this mission. But there was a haunted look in his blue eyes that made Phil's insides twist. And where was the swagger? Where was the smirk that so often accompanied his wanton bucking of authority? What had happened in Moscow? What had Clint seen that suddenly made it impossible for him to complete his objective? It took all of Phil's willpower not to rush to Clint when he walked in and gently ask all these questions. He wanted to know what he missed. What he should have seen.

But that would all have to wait. They weren't Phil and Clint right now. They were Agents Coulson and Barton. Held separate by uniforms, and ranks, and about six feet of space in the Director Fury's office. Not to mention Fury's blistering, one-eyed glare. It would just have to wait.

“Agent Barton,” Fury began primly as soon as the door was closed. “Mind telling me why you deemed it necessary to go off script and divert your mission?”

Barton opened and closed his mouth, uncharacteristically mute, which did nothing to lessen Coulson's worry. Barton looked to his handler but was quickly chastised.

“Oh, no you don't, Barton. Don't even think about it.” Fury said darkly, making him jump. “Agent Coulson is not here to help you, no matter what your relationship outside of work. I heard the mission recordings and I know you blindsided him as much as me, which is why you're the only one in the hot seat right now. He's here because you owe him an explanation as much as me. Maybe more so, and I thought I could save you some time and have you tell us both. So tell me. What made you think you could change plans like this?”

“I... I don't know. It... I wasn't changing plans. But... I... I couldn't carry out the mission as prescribed.” he answered softly. Again without jest or arrogant jibe. Coulson was really getting scared now.

“As prescribed? It was prescribed that way for a reason. Your extraction crew was not outfitted to transport someone as dangerous as Romanoff. Your orders were clear. You were to eliminate her. What about that leaves any wiggle room?”

“She wasn't dangerous. She-”

“That's not your call.” Fury bit back. “Did you miss on the mission brief that she's a world class actress, in addition to being lethal as all fuck?”

“She wants to join S.H.I.E.L.D.” Barton replied staring at the floor, his voice still small and quiet.

Coulson and Fury both gawked open mouthed at him for a moment before Fury barked with pitiless laughter. “Son, it will be a cold day in the hottest part of Hell before I give her a place scrubbing toilets in my organization. Truth be told, it's likely she'll never see the outside of a jail cell.”

Barton sighed and shuffled his feet. “I'm sorry, Director. I couldn't kill my target because I'm... I'm not in the business of killing innocents.” He winced at the word choice.

“Innocents?” It was Coulson's turn to stare unbelieving. “She has cold-bloodedly murdered hundreds of people including some of our own operatives.”

“But under her own power?” Barton replied, pleadingly. “I read the report on the Red Room and so did both of you. They did some scary brainwashing shit there. Sometimes to people as young as six. What if she's not in full possession of her right mind? She'll never see the inside of a courtroom.” he finally raised his eyes from the floor. A little of the angry, dissident spark burned coldly in his gaze. “And what country do you think wants to hold someone as dangerous as her? Is even equipped to at present? I don't think that jail cell is as certain as you wish.”

“It's not a matter of what I wish. It's a matter of the facts. She's killed a lot of people. But, if you're right, the psych eval I've ordered will tell us about her state of mind.” Fury said calmly. “I have to admit that I'm curious about what the Red Room did to make such deadly spies.”

“I can't ask for more than that, then.” Barton sighed. “If she cooperates, S.H.I.E.L.D. will give her some level of kindness, yes?”

“If you're asking if we'll torture her, no. Not if she cooperates.” Fury replied cooly.

“I expect she will cooperate.” Barton said softly, his gaze returning to his boots.

There was a long silence as Fury and Coulson regarded the field agent, weighing his words. They exchanged looks both clearly alarmed by Barton's emotional state as well as the prospect of having such a cunning assassin in their keeping. Something wasn't adding up. Some variable was still unknown, but there were a lot of unknowns in regards to the Red Room and its secrets.

At last, Fury spoke. “You're dismissed, Agent Barton. Report directly to debriefing, and then you will be on two weeks of R&R. Be sure to see one of the therapists during that time. The Black Widow's state of mind is not the only one I'm worried about.”

Clint nodded with a distasteful grimace. 

“This isn't a punishment,” Fury went on. “But rest assured that if you pull another stunt like this again, I'll have no problem finding you a place in the bowels of the HUB where the worst injury you'll sustain is a paper cut. Do I make myself clear?.”

“Crystal, sir.” Barton said, still being unusually clipped and humorless. He nodded to Coulson and Fury, not really looking at either of them, before turning on his heels and heading out the door.

When he was gone, Fury sighed and sat down at his desk, twisting in his chair to stare out at the clouds. “Y'know, I think that was the first time I've held a conversation with Clint Barton that was free of sarcasm.”

“That makes two of us, sir.” Coulson replied softly, his brow puckered in a tight frown as he stared at the closed door.

Fury sighed heavily. “You're dismissed as well, Agent Coulson. Make sure he makes that appointment with psych.” He said, opening the mission file on his desk. 

Coulson nodded tersely and went to leave.

“Oh and Coulson?” Fury called, his voice a little gentler than it had been a moment before. “I meant what I said about trusting you.”

Coulson nodded again, a smile ghosting across his face. “Thank you, sir.”

“So do me a favor and take care of him. Barton may be a pain in my ass, but he's the best. An eval may be able to tell us what's wrong, but I don't think it's the sort of thing they can fix.”

“Agreed, sir.” he answered, before heading out the door.


	2. Come Back To Me Darlin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful comments! I feel so loved!
> 
> Please note that this chapter is very much NSFW.
> 
> Also, once again, I am writing Clint as deaf. While I'm familiar with some ASL, I am not deaf, nor am I fluent so if there are errors please let me know.
> 
> Lastly, I forgot to thank my beta readers on my first chapter! So much love goes to KaminaDuck, HexMeridian, ArcaneIrony, Catmack, and LawlessDragon for their help with this fic.
> 
> Enjoy!

Phil didn't see Clint anywhere around headquarters the rest of the day, and he beat him back to their apartment that evening by several hours. As the night waned on, Phil began to worry that he might not even come home. He debated changing back out of his lounge clothes and going to look for him. If Clint truly didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be, but that didn't mean that Phil didn't know a few of his favorite haunts. Places he might go if he only wanted one person to find him.

But then, just as he started looking around for his tennis shoes, the door latch clicked softly, splitting the oppressive silence in the apartment. Clint stepped through the door and Phil just watched as he tugged off his leather coat and reached up and unclipped his hearing aids, depositing them on the tray on the table by the door. Then Clint's eyes met Phil's with a haunted look that stole Phil's breath. He wanted to go to Clint. Do... something. Anything to help, but he wasn't even sure what was wrong.

“Hi.” Phil signed, still rooted to the spot. “I missed you.” He tried for Clint's sake to smile, but he could barely manage it.

Clint didn't seem to care. He crossed the space between them in three fluid steps and crashed into Phil's arms, pressing his face into his faded t-shirt. Phil gritted his teeth against his boyfriend's near-painful grip and held him close. Their lips met a second later with crushing force, teeth scraping through the kiss as their tongues plundered one another's mouths. Their hands desperately wandered, relearning the shapes and curves, the details of which had been lost in their weeks apart. 

When the passion abated, Clint ducked his head and signed, “I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize.” Phil replied, smiling a little more earnestly. He was finding it hard to choose between keeping his hands on Clint and responding. It was one of his favorite conundrums. 

“I got you in trouble.” Clint still wasn't looking up.

Phil lifted Clint's chin before he signed his reply. “No, you didn't. You possibly got yourself in a lot of trouble, but the way you did it kept me out of it. And I'm thankful. I saw my life flash before my eyes when Fury stormed into my control room.” He fumbled with the grammar of the slang but he pressed on to make his point. “But I just wish you'd told me what you were planning.”

Clint nodded clearly satisfied that at least Phil wasn't being punished for his misguided attempt at mercy. “I didn't know what I was doing myself until I did it.” he replied with a half shrug.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Clint nodded again, and Phil leaned forward to kiss him again, much more gently this time. 

“Let's go sit down.” he started towards the living room sofa.

Clint shook his head and grabbed Phil's arm. “Take this off of me, first.” he signed, gesturing to his combat suit. “I'm tired of being an agent.”

Phil's breath caught in his throat, and he could feel his arousal uncoiling low in the pit of his stomach. “Okay.” He replied before leading Clint by the hand into their dimly lit bedroom.

How he wanted to turn on more than the bedside table light. He wanted to see every curve and detail of Clint's body. To check for even the slightest injury and then bathe him in gentle kisses. To caress every careworn line from his handsome face until that smirk that he so loved returned to infuriate him. All in good time...

Phil's hands first went to the zipper of Clint's tactical vest, stripping it off with practiced ease. The muscle shirt beneath followed shortly after, and Phil felt his breath catch as he gazed at Clint's bare chest, half gilt and half shadow in the dim light. He reached out, mesmerized, and dragged his fingertips down the plane of his breastbone before he realized what he was doing. Phil made to pull away, but Clint trapped one hand against his chest with his own, rubbing in a slow circle.

“Please.” he was saying. 

Phil's heart melted a little as he pulled Clint in for a long, languorous kiss. As his tongue flicked between Clint's open lips, Phil's hands were busy at his belt. He pushed his pants down his legs, stripping the last of “Hawkeye” from Clint Barton, and leaving him standing and shivering a little in only his boxers. Clint's head lolled back in relief as his partner's arms encircled him again, and Phil belatedly realized that tears had collected in his boyfriend's eyes. He quickly reached up and caught them with his thumbs before they had a chance to stain Clint's cheeks. Phil kissed him again, carefully at first but Clint's tongue was insistent as it plundered into Phil's mouth. Phil reached gently between Clint's legs, feeling his cock which was already half hard, come to full attention under his palm. Clint moaned into Phil's mouth and signed again with his hand awkwardly trapped between them.

“Please.”

Phil pulled back and looked into Clint's face as he continued to caress him through the fabric of his underwear. He wasn't exactly smiling, but the anguish and the tears were fading from his eyes at last. Replaced by a steadily burning and slowly growing fire that flushed his cheeks.

Phil backed them towards the bed, until Clint fell back across it with a soft thump. He immediately sat up and began to mouth at the growing bulge in Phil's sleep pants. Phil groaned aloud, and tangled his fingers through Clint's soft, downy hair. But when his boyfriend's hands dipped under the waistband of Phil's boxers, he cupped his hand under Clint's chin, raising his face.

“You don't have to.” Phil signed.

“Oh.” Clint actually spoke out loud, since his hands were busy freeing Phil's cock from his underwear. “I don't?” He leaned down and licked a wide stripe up the underside of his cock, which had Phil jerking in his grip. “Fair enough. If you don't want it.” Clint leaned back and leered up at him. 

There it was. There was that smile. It wasn't perfectly free of the anxiousness of earlier. But there was his darling, infuriating, antagonizing, beloved Clint and his smirk that made Phil want to shake him and kiss him senseless all at once.

Phil laughed aloud with relief and pounced onto him. Clint caught him easily, and pulled them both onto the pillows. He wrapped his legs around Phil's waist and pressed his lips to his ear.

“I've missed your cock inside of me.” he whispered, not needing his full range of hearing to know exactly how to pull off the sex-voice that never failed to make Phil weak with desire. He reached down to stroke Phil as he taunted him, snickering as he ground himself down into his grip. “Boy, it doesn't take much to get you from fretful and chivalrous knight to full on porn-star.”

Phil rolled them both so he was on bottom and had his hands free. “Don't you ever shut up?” he signed before grabbing Clint's face between his hands and kissing him hard.

“Well, I tried to find something productive to do with my mouth.” Clint answered, before he let his lips crawl along Phil's jaw. “But again with you and your weird chivalry.”

“Fuck you, Clint.” Phil signed.

“That would be my goal, yes.” Clint gave him a roguish smile, and before he knew it he was flat on his back with his underwear stripped away. Phil stood to rid himself of the rest of his clothes, and retrieve their bottle of lube from the bedside table. Clint's watched him shamelessly, his eyes glittering with gleeful lust.

Phil took his time prepping him, both because it had been awhile for both of them, and because he wanted some kind of revenge for the teasing from earlier. His first finger slipped in easily enough, and he already had Clint arching off the mattress. The smirk he wore faded around the edges, replaced by a slackened expression suffused with pleasure. The second finger made him hiss, but Clint ground himself down onto Phil's fingers as he stretched him slowly.

“Ah, fuck, Phil. Just do it already.” Clint grunted as Phil carefully added the third finger.

With one hand very much occupied, Phil couldn't reply. Instead, he gave Clint his most evil grin before leaning down to lave his tongue over the head of Clint's straining cock. Clint went stiff under him, hands fisting the bedsheets as Phil sucked him down, working his length in concert with the fingers thrusting inside him.

“Jesus, you're a piece of work.” Clint huffed, his voice ragged with want. He hooked his heels behind Phil's lower back and pulled him up. “God, if you don't fuck me, I'm going to scream.”

Phil pulled off him with a deliciously obscene sound, and used his already lubed hand to line himself up against Clint's ass. He pressed in slowly, mouth falling open in a long, keening moan as the heat of Clint's body overwhelmed his senses. Clint threaded his hands through Phil's hair and they gazed at one another for a long time. Then Phil collapsed against him, falling onto his lips as he began to grind himself deeper and deeper into Clint's body.

“God, so fucking tight...” Phil whispered to no one in particular before running his tongue along the contours of Clint's shoulders, sending him arching all the more into Phil's touch. They caught a rolling rhythm together, which had Phil's cock grinding against that sweet spot deep in Clint's ass. 

“Jesus, if you don't slow down...” Clint said huskily. Before he could finish, Phil wrapped a hand around his dripping cock and squeezed. Clearly he had no intention of being a tease any more. Only a handful of thrusts more and Clint was bowing off the bed, come painting his belly as he writhed. He felt Phil stiffen above him only a second later, filling him with a hot rush.

They collapsed together, moaning softly and shivering as the waves of pleasure dissipated. Phil curled himself around Clint, caressing every inch of skin he could reach as they both came down.

“I will never get tired of that.” Clint signed, his eyes shining.

Phil smiled and replied. “Good.”

They were quiet for a long while, just sharing gentle touches and smiles, the closeness of their bodies becoming wonderfully familiar again. Then Phil dragged the both of them off to the shower before laziness overruled sanity and they fell asleep where they lay, drying come and all. When they were scrubbed and shiny, and clad in clean PJ's they clambered back into bed, curling up into a pile of kisses and lazy limbs.

“Did you still want to talk?” Clint signed. “Or are you tired.” A little of that shadow had begun to creep across his face.

“No, lets talk, if you can suffer through my signing...” he paused and thought. “Ineptitude.”

Clint grinned, grabbing both his boyfriend's hands and kissing them. “You get better all the time.” That was his Phil. He'd rather try to sign and make a fool of himself than make Clint put his hearing aids back in.

Phil gave a bashful smile. “I need more practice.”

“Well, let's practice.” Clint replied, propping himself up against a stack of pillows.

Neither said much for a moment. Phil watched as the light faded from Clint's face again, and the furrows in his brow deepened with thought. A million questions clamored like cymbals in Phil's mind, but he did his best to be patient and wait for Clint to begin.

“I'm sorry for disobeying orders. And for not telling you my plans.” Clint signed after a long while. “ I didn't exactly plan to do what I did. But...” He glanced at Phil nervously. “She knew I was following her from the second I saw her. I don't know how she knew, but she knew. Part of me thinks she let me find her, because it was stupidly easy. Far easier than the rest. Easy enough to make me suspicious from the get go. She had to know I was coming. But rather than fight, or run away, she just led me to that abandoned warehouse. I didn't chase her away from civilians... she did that herself. She didn't want anyone else to get hurt. And I don't think she expected mercy. She expected me to kill her, and she wasn't trying to save herself and she wasn't surrendering.”

Phil blinked a few times. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be without asking her myself. Which I doubt I'll ever get to do.” Clint didn't say anything for a moment, his eyes staring out thousands of miles away to that empty warehouse lot. Then he grimaced and shook his head.. “She just stood there. She was going to let me kill her. I read her file. If she knew I was tailing her, she could have taken me out easily. I'm good, but I'm not scary, trained-since-I-could-crawl good. And I know. I know she's a hell of an actress. She's played smarter people than me. But I'm just... not the guy you send to cross off someone that isn't going to fight back. So that's why I captured her instead.”

“You spoke to her in... not English.” Phil fumbled to get around his lacking vocabulary.

“Russian.” Clint supplied with a fond smile.

“Russian.” Phil mimicked the motion carefully. “What did you tell her? And what did she say?”

“I told her to come with me. To S.H.I.E.L.D. That we would find a place for her and keep her safe if she's being hunted. And she asked if I was there to kill her and I told her no.”

“She's probably worked out that you were lying.”

“Probably.” Clint agreed. “But she came willingly anyway.”

“Did she say anything else on the flight over.”

“Not a word, at my advising. I figured that would make debrief go easier on me at least.”

“That was smart.”

“What do you think will happen to her?”

Phil shrugged. “Heavy interrogation probably.”

“You don't think they'll... mistreat her?”

“If she cooperates, which it sounds like she will, then I doubt it.”

Clint nodded. “I think she'll cooperate.”

There was a long pause as Clint stared off, deep in thought again.

“Do...” he hesitated. “Do you think I can go see her?”

Phil frowned in thought. “I don't know. She's under pretty heavy s-...” he stopped mid sign and looked at Clint, eyes narrowing. “You're...” he faltered, flailing for the right word.

Clint leaned forward and pointed to his ear.

“You have feelings for her.” Phil said, speaking very clearly.

“What?” Clint pulled back, obviously and overly shocked, and signed. “No! I... I just want to know... you know what never mind. Forget I said anything.” Despite his attempts to be flippant, he had flushed to the roots of his hair, which gave him away. 

“It's okay,” Phil replied, laughing a little. “I mean... there's no accounting for taste, unless the fear of being murdered by a red-head does it for you.”

“Fuck you.” Clint rolled his eyes.

“I'm being serious though. It's fine. We've had this talk remember?”

“I remember.” Clint nodded, flopping back on the pillows. He was still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. “I don't know what I feel. I just couldn't kill her. There was something... I don't know. She's special. She's more than just a Red Room killing machine.” he signed finally, before letting his hands fall heavily to the bed cover.

“Well, lets not worry about it then.” Phil said, spooning Clint up next to him. He couldn't talk anymore, since Clint wasn't facing him, so instead Phil planted a gentle kiss on the nape of his neck which had Clint cuddling back even tighter into his arms.

“Hey,” Clint said, his voice making Phil jump a little. Phil propped himself up a little so he could see Clint's face. “I love you.” he whispered with a soft smile. 

With one arm trapped under Clint, Phil could only make the sign for “I love you.” and press it to Clint's chest. Clint grabbed that hand, and pulled it around him like a security blanket. They were both snoring contentedly in no time.


	3. I've Been Waiting For So Long Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks again to all my beta readers, KaminaDuck, HexMeridian, LawlessDragon, ArcaneIrony, and Catmack.
> 
> This chapter gets a TW for discussion of PTSD and panic attacks.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

After the mission in Moscow, things returned to what passed for normal at the Triskelion. When his two week respite was done, Coulson got Barton back in the mission rotation, though he kept him to domestic surveillance missions at the advice of Barton's therapist. The only thing that hadn't changed was that Phil kept noticing that Clint would sometimes get this far away look in his eye. The lines in his forehead would deepen into a frown as he stared off at nothing. And every time Phil caught him, Clint would blush all the way to the roots of his hair.

About two months later, Director Fury stopped by Coulson's operations room. Fury had begun making a habit of visiting Agent Coulson after missions to conduct a more informal Q&A before sending the whole team off to be formally debriefed. So it was no surprise when Fury stopped by as Barton was being extracted from a week long stakeout in Los Angeles.

“Morning, Agent Coulson.”

“Good morning, sir.” Coulson said, standing quickly from his desk. “Agent Barton just wrapped up his-”

Fury held up a hand. “I'll read your file. Make sure it's thorough.”

“Yes... sir.” Phil replied frowning and returning to his chair.

“I'm actually here because I have a job for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes. I saw in your file that you did a rotation in the Communications division of S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy while you were studying at Operations.”

“Yes, sir. Specifically, studying asset analysis. It was required for the leadership track I was on.”

Fury nodded. “Gotten much use out of it since then?”

“Not since I've been assigned as handler to Agent Barton. I did help him build his support team, and before that I spent a year designing ops and assigning them to the agents at the HUB.”

“Done any interviews for, say, new agents?”

“Not since the mock interviews at the Academy.”

“Well, you should review the updated procedure. I've got an appointment for you tomorrow after lunch.”

Phil cocked his head to one side, his brow creasing. “You want me to start interviewing potential agents?”

“Just one.” Fury replied evenly. “The stray spider your pet bird dragged in.”

Coulson's eyebrows shot up. “You want me to interview Romanoff for placement in-”

Fury raised a hand to stop him. “Just interview her.” He said, simply. “I want to see how she responds to questioning like that. She's been... astonishingly cooperative so far from what I'm hearing.”

“How is she doing?” Phil asked folding his arms. “Just so I know what I'm walking into.”

Fury inclined his head and shrugged. “Her med team has been keeping me up to date. She struggled the first few weeks. Apparently, she's not so bad ass that she doesn't have flashbacks and nightmares.”

“PTSD? Something like that?”

“Something like that. Only from what I hear, she doesn't do the cowering in a corner thing. Broke five ribs on one of her attendings.” 

Coulson hissed through his teeth.

“But things are in hand now. Better living through chemistry. And serious cognitive therapy.”

"I'm glad to hear that." Coulson nodded. “Thank you for trusting me with this, sir.” 

“You're an excellent judge of character, Agent Coulson. I just want another good eye on it.”

Coulson swallowed and blinked. “Thank you, sir. As soon as Agent Barton is back, I'll go look up the interview materials.”

“Everything you need is right here.” Fury produced a flash drive from a pocket in his leather trench coat. “Including copies of the Red Room files, the files on Romanoff, and the mission debrief from when Barton brought her in. There's also some information from the psychiatrists taking care of her. And of course... the standard interview procedure. Keep to the protocol as much as you can, but if she wants to talk about her training, let her talk. Some of that is above your pay-grade so that flash drive doesn't leave this room. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you sir.” he replied, taking the drive. “I'll get to work right away.”

“You interview Romanoff at 2pm tomorrow. I'll have a hard copy of her file waiting with her doctor when you arrive. Your escort to the holding cells will pick you up from your office. Thank you, Agent Coulson.”

“My pleasure, sir.” Coulson replied absently, as he began to scroll through Romanoff's file on his computer.

***

Clint didn't have much to say at first when Phil told him later that night about the interview as they were watching a marathon of Ally McBeal. The news hung in the room like a cloying fog. But after a long while, he rolled over to look at Phil.

“You think they're actually going to let her into S.H.I.E.L.D.?” he signed, gazing up at his partner from where he lay across his lap. Skepticism pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Phil just shrugged. “I don't know. From what Fury said, he just wants to see how she responds to the questioning. I imagine that her attaining any sort of status as an active agent will be contingent on a great deal more than my rusty interviewing skills.”

“That's fair.” Clint replied with a nod.

“You decided yet how you feel about her?”

Clint gave a defeated huff and rolled his eyes. “I don't know, Phil. I really don't. I just... I've only spoken a dozen words to her in very broken Russian.”

“And you saved her life at potentially great risk to your own. I only ask because you blush when I catch you thinking about her.”

Clint glowered at him. “You do not catch me...” He stopped short when Phil raised an eyebrow. “I can't help it. I just wonder... I wonder about her. I hope they're treating her well. I hope she's getting better. You said that she was showing signs of PTSD?”

Phil nodded. “But her medical file says she's seen marked improvement. She's been very accepting of therapy and medication as far as I can tell, and it's helping.” Phil assured him, leaning down to give him a gentle kiss. “It's okay, Clint. I'm being serious.”

“I know.” Clint signed, wiggling his shoulders to settle himself even closer to Phil. “Will you let me know? Y'know. How she's doing?”

“Fury didn't tell mention a gag order so I'll tell you what I can, I promise.” Phil replied with a fond smile.

Clint nodded, tangling their hands together before they both returned their attention to the TV. Though Phil's attention lingered just a tad longer with the archery-calloused hands that were caressing his.

***

The cold weight in the pit of Phil's stomach was almost unbearable as he was escorted to the basement of the Triskelion. He was surrounded on all sides by agents two and three levels above him, all fully armed and armored as if they were going to war rather than the basement of the most secure building on the planet. And there he was looking like a car salesman in his suit, clutching only a manila folder of papers. He didn't even have his side-arm. 

He actually hadn't been nervous until the escort had shown up in his office looking like they were going to take over a small country. Before that, it was just another mission to study; all details and planning laid out on sterile white paper. But now he was about to go question quite possibly the most deadly assassin in history. She was smart. Far smarter than him, he was certain. 

And more than that, he still wasn't quite sure what Fury was looking for. He just needed a “good eye,” he'd said. The pun made Phil laugh a little to himself as the elevator sped downwards. His nervousness made him laugh louder than he might have otherwise, drawing confused looks from the members of his escort. 

Then the elevator dinged, and the doors rumbled open. All smiles and confused looks vanished again.

“This way please, Agent Coulson.” one of his escorts directed him down a branch of the hallway to where a silver haired doctor in a white lab coat waited to meet them.

“You must be Agent Coulson.” the doctor said warmly, putting out her manicured hand. “I'm Dr. Barnes and I've been seeing to Romanoff during her stay with us.”

“It's a pleasure, ma'am.” Coulson replied taking her handshake as well as the folder she offered.

“Sorry for all the security measures. Even if we weren't keeping someone as potentially dangerous as Romanoff, the rules are the rules.”

“It's quite alright, ma'am. Protocol is the norm for me upstairs, too.” Phil replied with a smile. 

“So you're here to give an interview?”

“Yes, ma'am. Is there anything I need to know?”

“Well, you've got her file in your hands so that gives you all your history on her and her activities. At least as far as we know.” Dr. Barnes pulled her wrinkled face into a puckered frown. “But I'd say that's more warning than actual helpful data.”

“You described her as 'potentially' dangerous.” Phil pointed out. “Do you have reason to believe that she isn't a danger to us here?”

“She's given no sign of it.” Dr. Barnes gave a small shrug. “She's as docile as a lamb. Especially now that we have her panic attacks under control. Maybe she's waiting... patient spider and all that. But that just doesn't feel right. And panic attacks are something you can't fake. Not with medical equipment monitoring you night and day. Maybe you'll agree, or maybe you'll spot something we're missing.”

“That is why Director Fury sent me down here.” Phil replied, giving his best and most reassuring smile, even though he was growing less and less certain that he was cut out to help in this case. “Shall we?”

“Follow me.” Dr. Barnes opened the reinforced steel door and led Phil into a room half encased in thick glass. Behind the glass, there was a small bed, and a table and chair. And standing at attention in the middle of the room, clad in white cotton hospital clothes, was Natasha Romanoff herself. She watched Phil enter, clearly a little surprised at a new face, but she kept her expression schooled to a placid mask. She didn't seem to recognize Phil but he knew she could be bluffing.

“Have a seat,” Dr. Barnes directed Coulson to the chair facing the glass wall. “And don't worry. She'll be able to hear you through the glass. Ms. Romanoff,” she turned to face her patient. “Your interviewer from S.H.I.E.L.D. is here. This is Agent Phillip Coulson.”

“Hello, sir.” she replied with a stiff nod, a Russian accent coiling around her words.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Romanoff.” Phil said, smiling at her as he took his seat. “Please. Make yourself comfortable.”

She did so, pulling out the metal chair by her desk and moving it to sit across from Agent Coulson. She was lovely. Phil could not deny that. And... small. A wisp of a thing, like a gymnast or a ballerina. Her posture was perfect and expression was reserved, her eyes barely leaving Phil's face. Judging by her fidgeting, her nervousness was legitimate, or she was as good an actress as her file had led him to believe.

“Are you here to interrogate me? I promise I'll be as cooperative as possible. I just... I don't remember everything.” Her voice was thin and brittle with fear. She could hear it too, and she took a deep breath to steady herself as she glanced around at the marked increase in her security detail.

Then it dawned on Phil what she was afraid of. “Please, don't worry.” he said soothingly. “This is just a standard S.H.I.E.L.D. interview process regarding asset training. Some of these questions assume training at a S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, but I want you to answer them in your best approximation. Feel free to ask me any questions, and I may ask you to expound on anything not detailed in our files. Shall we begin?”

“Of course.” she responded, taking another deep breath as he asked his first question.

It was a grueling process. The standard preliminary interview usually lasted no longer than two hours, but they were well past hour three before Phil had exhausted his list of questions. Not to mentioned the questions he'd come up with on the spot. Romanoff, who grew more relaxed with each inquiry, had quite extensively expounded up on the nature of her training in the Red Room. At least what she could remember of it. Violent training practices. Trigger phrases. Behavior modification. It was all very real to Coulson now, whereas before, the Red Room had been sort of a S.H.I.E.L.D. bogey-man story. Their own ideals of the height of espionage and tactics taken to a horrifying conclusion.

“I appreciate your exhaustive cooperation, Ms. Romanoff.” Coulson said, when they had concluded his official questioning. 

“Anything I can do to help.” Romanoff replied cordially.

He was about to stand when he glanced up at her, meeting her eyes which still bored into his. He could see unspoken inquiries swirling in her gaze. “Do you have any questions for me?” he asked, closing her file and setting it on his knee.

She licked her lips, eyes unfocused as she thought. “The man.” she began hesitantly, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt sleeve. “The archer. He was sent to kill me.”

“That's correct.” Coulson replied evenly.

“Why didn't he?” she asked, her voice very small again.

“He thought you weren't acting under your own power.” Coulson replied. “He... tell me something. Where were you going when he caught up to you?”

“To the place where he found me.” she paused glancing up at Coulson again. His gaze was unwavering as he waited for her to tell her story. “He...” she smiled then, but only a little. “He didn't find me. I knew S.H.I.E.L.D. was tracking me so I let myself be found. I led him to the warehouse. Away from people. It would make it... easier for him. No need for an elaborate escape or careful aim. I could have gotten away, or at least tried to, but you would keep sending people and my luck would eventually run out. I thought... that would be easier.”

“Just to let Agent Barton kill you?”

"If I had known he was an archer, I'd have just stayed at the cafe where he first saw me. I was expecting a plan with more... collateral damage." She was smiling but only to veil the terror at what might have happened. Then she looked up at her interviewer. “You... Do you know him?”

“I'm his handler.” Phil answered, rather impulsively.

“Do you agree with his decision?”

He licked his lips and paused for a moment before answering. “Truthfully, I didn't understand what he was doing at the time. Orders were orders, and all that. I... I wasn't seeing what he was seeing. But if he was correct in his assessment, then no. I don't disagree with his decision to spare you.”

“Then, will you deliver a message for me, please? Just tell him thank you. I know a place in S.H.I.E.L.D. was not his to promise, but you have been good to me here. I've gotten help from Dr. Barnes and her team. I hope... I want to repay that somehow. I'll repay with information... or whatever else I have to offer. To him and I guess, to you. As well as to S.H.I.E.L.D. You could have exterminated me on the spot when I arrived. I fully expected it.”

“We're not in that business.”

“You were with my sisters." She answered, her voice painfully neutral. "Not that I blame you. And not that I'd blame you for killing me, too.”

Phil paused for a moment, taking her measure. She really was on the level as best he could tell, and that thought scared him more than the possibility of her playing him false. She truly had come out of whatever atrocious manipulation the Soviets had forced upon her, and was living with memories and deeds that were not her own. She was made of strong stuff indeed.

“I'll pass your message along.” he answered softly.

“Thank you, Agent Coulson.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Romanoff.”

When Coulson had exited Romanoff's room, his security escort was waiting just outside. “Director Fury sent word that you're to report to his office as soon as the interview is over.”

“From the bottom of the Triskelion to the top. Not every day I get to make that trip.” Phil mused aloud as he followed the armored agents back to the elevator.

***

“So, Agent Coulson. What are you thoughts?” Fury sat back in his chair, steepling his long fingers together.

“She certainly wasn't what I was expecting.”

“You aren't the first person to say that about her.” Fury nodded resting his chin on his fingertips. “But tell me what you mean by that.”

“I expected... either cold, purposefully unhelpful answers in an attempt to get me to lead the questions and inadvertently leak information. Or I expected... I don't know. Some sort of psychosis consistent with that level of mental abuse. Something... she was just so. I don't know... level.”

“You're not wrong about that last. She did exhibit signs of severe PTSD when she first arrived, though milder than you would expect, probably due to the mental discipline inherent in her training. That's been the focus of Dr. Barnes' work with her, since we're really not sure what else to do at this point.”

“You're convinced she's not dangerous.” Coulson stated, cocking his head.

“You're not?”

“I've only talked to her once.” he replied, carefully. “I'm not really prepared to say.”

"Do you think you could be convinced?" Fury asked.

"If I've learned anything at S.H.I.E.L.D. it is to never rule out anything. But one interview doesn't give me enough data, either through direct questioning or observation." Phil explained carefully.

Fury nodded. “I watched the interview. She responded well to you, which I expected. If you're up to it, I'd like to have you interview her further.”

“Why me?”

“She opened up to you. Especially once she knew you worked with the man that made the call to spare her life.”

“Am I allowed to relay her message to Agent Barton?”

“Please do. I want to keep things somewhat unclassified as far as he is concerned. I'd rather not have Tweety climbing around in my air vents. Again.”

Coulson had to smile at that. “Thank you. He's been asking questions about her, too. I imagine I'm going to get grilled over dinner tonight.”

“You don't think your Hawkeye is nursing a crush, do you?” Fury said with a thoroughly amused smirk.

“He might.” Phil shrugged, and mirrored Fury's grin.

Then his expression became more pointed. “And that's not rocking your boat is it, Agent Coulson? Because I'll yank the plug on this in a New York minute if it's going to cause problems with my best two agents.” 

“No, sir.” Coulson fervently shook his head. “Our relationship is such that outside interests are... not a problem. Truthfully, it's sort of cute getting to watch him be all love sick again. I didn't get to enjoy it the first time around because I kept thinking something was wrong.”

“It did take you awhile to figure it out.”

“I do have my blind spots.” Coulson admitted.

Fury stood and offered his hand. “Thank you for your help, Agent Coulson. I'll get another interview with Romanoff on your calendar for the same time next week. In the mean time, go over your interview and find questions you didn't ask the first time around. Feel free to contact Dr. Barnes and see if her sessions with Romanoff yield any unturned stones.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Coulson replied, warmly shaking the Director's hand before exiting the office.

***


	4. I Can Feel You in the Hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for discussion of PTSD and panic attacks.
> 
> Many thanks and much love to my wonderful beta-readers!
> 
> As always, feedback is always appreciated! Hope you enjoy!

“You're sure Fury said this was alright?” Barton asked, shifting his stance uneasily. It was the third time that day he'd asked some form of that question. “Me going down there to see her after... everything?”

This time Phil just sighed and gave him a playfully withering glare. “Do you really think I'm dumb enough... or smart enough for that matter, to pull a fast one over on Fury? He would be picking me out of his teeth before his morning cup of jet fuel and kitten blood... or whatever he drinks.”

That made Clint at least chuckle a little. “You're in his best of graces these days, or so I hear.”

“So you hear?” Phil parroted. “What exactly are you hearing?”

“The locker room whispers sweet nothings to me.” Clint said melodramatically. “The chatter is that you're going to private meetings with him on at least a weekly basis. If I didn't know any better, I would get jealous.” He batted his eyelashes at Phil, which earned him an elbow to the ribs.

“Pff. Please. I'm just giving him updates about the Romanoff case. I've got my hands full dating you. I don't need to add the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. to the mix. Besides... you know he'd be all bossy and demanding and that's my job.”

“I dunno." Clint made a show of thinking. "I can totally see him handcuffed to the wall in a lace teddy myself.”

“Jesus, Clint. Not enough brain bleach in the universe.” Phil groaned, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, and laughing all at once as the elevator doors slid open. This time, only Dr. Barnes and one security escort met them. The detail had been shrinking steadily over the last few weeks.

“Good afternoon, Agents.” she greeted, their laughter catching her up in its wake and making her smile even brighter than usual. “You must be the amazing Hawkeye. I'm Dr. Barnes. I've been looking after Ms. Romanoff.” she extended her hand to Clint.

He flushed as he took the handshake. “Clint Barton, ma'am. Legendary trouble maker and producer of paperwork. That's me.”

“We'll you're quite the legend in Ms. Romanoff's book.” she replied.

“How is she?” Clint asked his expression turning serious.

“Better each day, but it's been a slow road.” Dr. Barnes replied, gesturing for them to follow her. “We've been teaching her coping mechanisms for her PTSD. Though I worry the nature of her mental training might inhibit their usefulness for her. But we're making progress.”

“Did you let her know she's having another visitor?” Coulson asked as they tailed her down the corridor.

“No, I thought it best to have it be a bit of a surprise. I want to gauge her reaction to new emotional stimulus. You and I and a couple of other doctors are the only ones who have had sustained contact with her since she was brought here. I will be interested to see how she reacts.” They had reached the door to Romanoff's cell. “Shall we?”

“After you.” Coulson gestured, and opened the door.

“Good morning, Ms. Romanoff. You have visitors.”

“Good morning, Dr. Barnes. Is it Agent Coul-” she stopped dead upon seeing Clint's face, words caught in her throat.. Her mouth parted in a little “oh” and she immediately began fidgeting with her clothes. Coulson couldn't help noticing that she took a step back from the glass as Clint moved into the room.

“Hello, Ms. Romanoff.” Coulson said, giving her a calm smile. “I know you and Agent Barton have encountered one another before, but we thought it was time you actually met formally.”

Her eyes flicked to him and she nodded, before her gaze returned to Clint who was similarly frozen behind Phil, still standing in the doorway.

Barton had to lick his lips twice in order to manage to speak. “Hi.” He croaked, suddenly finding himself unable to speak.

Coulson turned to look back at him and it was all he could do to keep from giggling. He was as transfixed as she, and all the color had drained out of his face. He really did have a crush on her. Like... at first sight, puppy love, Cupid's arrow stuff. Phil had only seen Clint look like this one other time, and that was after that close shave in Mexico City. Clint had taken several bullet wounds, but thankfully none crippling or life threatening. Phil had kissed him in the middle of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters when he'd gotten back. And then proceeded to call him an idiot for disobeying orders and getting himself shot. That was the only other time Phil had seen that look on his face. He really was gone on Romanoff and it both warmed Phil's heart and made him worry.

Romanoff slowly approached the glass wall that separated them, cocking her head this way and that in the dim light. “Forgive me. I'm being rude but, I don't know what to say.”

“It's alright. I... don't really know what to say either.” Clint replied, taking a deep breath. “I'm Clint Barton.” he did his best to give her a friendly smile.

“And you know my name.” she answered, inclining her head rather formally. 

“You're still owed the dignity of a proper introduction if you want to give it.” Clint responded lifting one shoulder in what he hoped was a casual shrug. He was inching closer to the glass himself.

“My reputation precedes me.” she said softly, not looking at him now.

“You aren't just your reputation.” he said. “If you were, I would not be here, and you would be a free woman.”

“I've never been a free woman.” she responded darkly. “Though...” her voice softened a shade. “Though, I suppose I am now. In a way.”

“Tell me.” Clint said softly, taking another step towards the glass. Both of them were completely unaware that Coulson and Dr. Barnes had just exchanged very amused smirks.

“I made the choice to be here.” She said with a small shrug. “To allow you to bring me here. That's a sort of freedom isn't it?"

Clint nodded and was silent for a moment. With his hands jammed in his pockets he looked like an overgrown, bashful high schooler. Phil couldn't help but smile as he watched him. “You still haven't told me your name.” Clint pointed out.

Romanoff laughed and put her back to the glass. She slid down in an undignified heap and Clint followed suit. She looked up at him through her lashes, her guarded expression softening. “I'm Natasha.” she said finally, her name barely louder than a breath. Her brow puckered and a strange smile played across her lips. “I don't think I've ever introduced myself with my real name before.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Natasha.” Clint replied with a goofy grin. “I'd shake your hand but...” he rapped his knuckle on the inch thick glass.

She smiled and did the same. “Another thing I never did was tell you thank you. At least, not in person.”

“No need to thank me.” Clint replied, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“You directly disobeyed orders from your superiors. While I know S.H.I.E.L.D. is not the Red Room, I'm sure you were gambling some strict punishment none the less. And you..." her frown deepened. "I could have killed you. You know that.”

“While I know some people were wishing you had after I pulled that stunt,” He jerked his head in Coulson's direction. “I appreciate you refraining. Though, you could have killed me long before I was out of cover.”

“In cover? That's what you call what you were doing?”

Clint blinked twice in surprise before a chuckle overtook him. “Oh, is that how this is going to be.” Clint laughed, leaning back against the glass. “I see how it is.”

As the two assassins were talking, Dr. Barnes pulled Coulson aside out of easy earshot. “Well... I don't want to start singing “Matchmaker, Matchmaker” but I'm thinking that this is going rather well.”

“You don't think she could be playing us? She knows Clint's got a soft spot for her. Gives her the advantage.”

“I would be inclined to agree, Agent Coulson, but she's unaware that the medical equipment she's being monitored with is hooked up to the most advanced polygraph machine in the world. No one can beat it. Not even Fury.”

“She's clean?”

“As the proverbial whistle.” Dr. Barnes produced a tablet showing the readings on Romanoff's vitals.

“Amazing.” Phil breathed as he scanned the data and then looking up at where Romanoff was sitting next to Barton. “She truly is on the level.”

“Seems that way.” Dr. Barnes agreed. “And her therapy for the panic attacks and PTSD is going very well, even if we do have to get a little unorthodox sometimes. In a normal situation, I would see fit to release her. Maybe not to full active duty, but she doesn't need constant supervision like before.”

“Now comes the hard question.” Coulson sighed. “What do we do with her?”

“What do we do with her.” Barnes repeated shaking her head.

“Can we bring down someone to do a thorough debrief?” Coulson proposed, lifting one shoulder. "And interview her for placement?"

“We could, but I don't know that it will get us any new information. And I doubt that could buy us more than a few days at most. It just delays the issue.”

“Still, it would be a set of fresh eyes on this case. I really don't feel like we can be too careful, and Romanoff seems to have been tolerant of our questioning so far. And besides. I'm not really qualified to be making these decisions. I'm a field agent who happens to have a knack for tactics and organization. I don't have the expertise to determine the qualifications of an agent. I was just sent here to gauge her reactions.” Coulson turned back to Clint and Natasha. They were still back to back against the glass, sitting cross-legged on the floor like school children. Natasha's expression was earnest and serious, a dark cloud over her lovely face. But then Clint said something that made her laugh again. It was a sparkling, infectious sound that made Phil smile, too. Then he turned back to Dr. Barnes, his contentment and amusement at the whole situation was mirrored on her face. “Let me talk to Fury. I'll let him know your recommendation and give him mine, and we'll see how he wants to proceed. Ultimately, it's his call anyway.”

“I can live with that. I'll open a secure mail channel to your desk so you can let me know what he says.” Dr. Barnes replied as the two of them edged back over to where Natasha and Clint were sitting. When they saw them approaching, the two scrambled to their feet.

“Sorry, Agent Coulson. I... we got a little carried away talking.” Natasha said, smoothing her rumpled clothes.

“Totally my fault." Barton jumped in. "I had to tell her the story about my stakeout in West Virginia. Where I tried to set up a sniping position on top of a fire ant hill?”

“Oh gosh, you're kidding.” Dr. Barnes said, laughing. “I bet medical had a field day with you.”

“Hey... I still made the shot.” Clint said cockily.

“And the record for the most requests for lidocaine, I'll wager.” Dr. Barnes replied with a chuckle.

“Did you have any questions for me, Agent Coulson?” Natasha asked as their laughter faded.

“Honestly no. Not really. You two kept asking about each other, so we thought it was time for you to meet. Did you have any questions for me?”

“I... did. Actually.”

“Come on, Agent Barton. That's our cue. I'll follow you to the elevator.” Dr. Barnes tugged at his elbow.

Clint turned back to Natasha and smiled. “I'll see you around, Natasha” he said, smiling and rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“I hope so.” she answered, giving a small wave.

When they were out the door, Coulson turned back to Natasha. “Ask away.”

“Are you... are you two... I'm sure S.H.I.E.L.D. has rules against it so forgive me for prying. But are you and Agent Barton dating?”

Coulson coughed in surprise and knew it was futile to try and deny it. “You put that together fast.”

“It's the way you look at each other. And you don't care if you get caught. You would hide it if your feelings were one-sided.” she answered simply.

“You're sharp.”

“I do have a reputation.” she replied, twisting her shoulders back and forth. “I'm sorry to pry.”

“It's alright.” Coulson frowned a bit. Was that... disappointment he could hear in her voice?

“Dr. Barnes and the other doctors don't seem to have anything new for me lately. Is S.H.I.E.L.D. done with me?”

“To be truthful, I'm going to go talk to Fury about that very subject as soon as I leave.” Coulson answered. “I'll let you know what he says as soon as it's confirmed.”

“If I may ask, what are you going to recommend?” Natasha asked, cocking her head. “You've been interviewing me for over a month. He's going to ask for your input, if I've gathered any measure of Director Fury correctly.”

Phil had to smirk at that. Even though she didn't seem to be working actively against them, it didn't mean her masterfully trained mind wasn't still working. “I'm going to recommend that you be formally debriefed, and if the person debriefing you finds that you're suitable, then a place be found for you working in S.H.I.E.L.D. I don't make any promises, but that's what I think should be done and I'll tell Fury as much.”

Natasha inclined her head. She didn't seem the slightest bit vexed by the idea of yet another interviewer. “I appreciate that you will vouch for me, Agent Coulson.”

“You've vouched for yourself.” he corrected. “And you'll have to keep doing so, I'm afraid.”

She nodded tersely. “Thank you, sir.”

“You're welcome, Ms. Romanoff. Take care of yourself. I'll be in touch soon.”

“Good afternoon, sir.” she said with a nod as he hurried from the room.

***

When Phil arrived at Fury's office, he discovered Clint had been called there as well. He sat in the corner of the picture window behind the Director's desk, watching the little ants zip around the D.C. Streets some thirty stories down.

“Well, Coulson.” Fury began. “This will be a little sudden. But I need your final report on Romanoff.”

Coulson blinked in surprise but shrugged. “Of course, sir. I've actually finished with my questioning anyway. I'll compile my notes and get a report on your desk in the morning.”

“I would actually like to get things in motion before that, so I'm happy to discuss your findings now. I've done enough reading on Romanoff to last a lifetime.” He rapped a knuckle on the fat folder sitting on his desk.

“Get things in motion?” Barton asked, turning from the window and straightening a little. Then he added belatedly “Sir?”

“Yes, Agent Barton.” Fury replied, leaning far back in his chair and turning to face him. “I'm inclined to think I might be able to make good on your promise.”

“You're kidding.” Barton replied, flatly.

“Well, lets see what your handler has to say.” Fury turned to face Coulson. “Go ahead, whenever you're ready.”

“Well,” Coulson paused to gather his thoughts. “The initial interview process was a good deal longer than average, but that was largely due to the massive amounts of information I acquired about the Red Room and its training structure. While her training was much more... zealous, than anything a S.H.I.E.L.D. recruit would receive, none the less I found her to be quite capable and fluent in the practice of espionage and combat. Though, if Romanoff is to be inducted into S.H.I.E.L.D., I expect she will need some remedial instruction on operating procedures. Mostly those that involve minimizing civilian casualties, property damage, and cooperative tactics. But I think she's quite capable of adapting.”

“What about her mental state?” Fury asked.

“I'll let Dr. Barnes report speak for itself. As far as my interviews with her are concerned, she seemed... nervous at first. Eventually, I deemed that much of that was because I was a new face and she didn't know why I was there, or what my questions were looking for. But she was incredibly cooperative none the less. Her answers were never evasive or provocative. And her anxiety lessened over the course of our sessions.”

“Dr. Barnes reported that she had severe PTSD and anxiety brought on by her 'zealous' training.” Fury noted, flipping through the file on his desk. “And her allowing Agent Barton to easily tail and target her could be construed as suicidal. What are your thoughts about this?”

“I didn't notice any overtly worrying signs during my questioning sessions with her. No visible self-inflicted injuries. No panic attacks in my presence thought it was my understanding that she had plenty of them in her first few weeks with S.H.I.E.L.D.. As I said before, she seemed nervous when I first began to question her, but as I visited more and more, she became more at ease. And she never seemed guarded about the information she gave. That always came freely. And I never got the impression that she was leading my interrogation or that she was being evasive.”

Fury nodded and pursed his lips. “Agent Barton. What was your impression of Romanoff?”

Barton was quiet for a moment, staring down at the pavement below. “She's tough.” he said finally, not looking up. “Tougher than me, if what Phil tells me about the Red Room is true. Probably tougher than anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D.. She went from basically committing suicide via sniper, to cracking jokes with that same sniper. She's either tough as nails, or she's playing us all.”

“I don't think she's playing us.” Coulson interjected. “Have Dr. Barnes send up the polygraph readings and you'll see for yourself. She's on the level.”

“I already did, and you're right. It doesn't appear that she has an ulterior motive.” Fury sighed and leaned forward to place his elbows on the desk. “So Agent Coulson, what is your recommendation?”

Coulson pressed his lips together. “Well, we could index her.” He replied at length. “She's not superhuman per se, but she is someone we should watch if we let her go.”

“I don't want to let her go." Fury responded shaking his head and leaning his elbows on his desk. "I'd like to make her a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. if I can. Do you think that's possible?”

“She would certainly like that I think.” Phil nodded.

“And if I wanted to do that? How do you think that should work? We would be out of the realm of protocol at that point, so I would hear your thoughts.”

“I think someone should formally debrief her about the Red Room and her missions for the Soviets. And then she should be interviewed properly. One last set of eyes before we put a badge around her neck and a gun in her hand.”

“Who would you recommend?”

“Agent Maria Hill might not be a bad idea. She's quite thorough, and has high standards when it comes to protocol.”

“I agree.” nodded Fury. “I kept Hill out of the loop for this express purpose.”

“You've intended to bring her in all along?” Barton asked, frowning at Fury with disbelief.

Fury just smiled that old, rakish, spy's smile. “You know me, Agent Barton. I like to keep my options open.”

Clint just laughed and shook his head.

“Speaking seriously. Romanoff is an asset. Whether or not we can use her was up to Dr. Barnes and her team, the two of you, and now the final word will be with Agent Hill. I was tempted to interview her myself but... well. I didn't trust myself to be objective.”

“She's valuable.” Coulson said, sagely.

“Extremely.” Fury agreed. “And I don't want that blinding me. Thanks for being my good eye on this, Agent Coulson.”

“Always a pleasure, sir.”

“You boys can take the rest of the day off. I'll be in touch about Hill's interview.”

“Thank you, sir.” Both agents replied together before leaving Fury to his reading.

***

Clint had been quiet all day after their visit with Romanoff. All through lunch, and errands, and now as they milled about their apartment, he was quiet and withdrawn. For the last two hours he'd done nothing but sit out on their balcony and watch traffic. It was a sure sign that something was weighing on him.

Phil let this carry on for most of the afternoon but when he'd finally had it, he strode out onto the balcony and put his hands on his hips. “Alright. What is it.” He made the question a statement.

“What?” Clint replied, his lovely eyes going wide with feigned innocence. For a spy, he was sometimes a terrible liar.

“You're brooding, and I'm about to resort to singing Disney songs in an effort to inject some cheerfulness into this apartment.”

Clint winced dramatically. “Please don't.”

“Then please tell me what's eating you.” Phil said, sitting down on the wicker chair across from Clint, who avoided his gaze for a while.

“Nothing.” he said with too much force to be convincing. Phil just leaned his elbows on his knees and waited. “Seriously, you don't need to worry about it. It's nothing.” And when Phil still clearly wasn't buying it, Clint sighed and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Romanoff. I was thinking about Romanoff.”

Phil smiled warmly. “Y'know, when Romanoff goes to her remedial training, I'm signing you up for interrogation resistance 101.” Clint responded by throwing a cushion at Phil, who caught it nimbly and tucked it under his arms. “Okay, so what about Romanoff.”

“I don't know. I just... worry about her? I mean, what if she doesn't get into S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“I'm pretty sure she will.”

“But what if she doesn't? What if Hill says no? Not that I blame you for adding her to the mix. I mean, my logical brain knows that it's a smart plan. Bringing Romanoff in is risky.”

“It is.” Phil agreed. “Though I worry less about her snapping and trying to kill us all, and more about someone making a snide comment and getting their sternum broken.”

Clint snorted. “Agreed. But... What do you think Fury's angle is on this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Fury always has an angle. All his plans are intricate little machines. I mean... take this for example. He left Hill out of the loop on this. Maria fucking Hill. Rumor in the locker room is that he's going to tap her for his second when the current Deputy Director retires, and he left her out of the loop so he could have a clean set of eyes on this. His best and most calculated set of eyes. He knows she won't let him bullshit her. He's counting on it.”

“Like you said, Romanoff is a great asset, but she's also a risk. Fury's just making sure we don't get starry-eyed with ideas of what could be. But you're still not telling me what's wrong.” Phil hugged the pillow around his middle as he leaned forward to squint at his boyfriend.

Clint sighed heavily and glanced up at Phil. “I know how to pick 'em don't I?” he said miserably. “First my handler, and now the scariest assassin in like... ever. The woman could probably kill me with a jar of pickles.”

“That what does it for you?” Phil chided with a wink.

“Oh fuck you, Phil.” Clint grumbled, even though a smile tickled the corner of his mouth. “No, It's not like that. It's... I don't know. You're... you're sure you don't care?” He looked up at Phil with the most vulnerable expression Phil had ever seen. It made his chest ache, both with sympathy and fondness.

“If you're asking if I'm jealous. No. I'm not jealous.” Phil said coming around to sit next to Clint who proceeded to burrow up under one arm and press his face against Phil's chest like an over-fond cat. “I do worry. But only for the obvious reasons. They're reasons that I would worry even if we weren't together.”

“Like I said... I do know how to pick 'em.” Clint huffed.

Phil leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of Clint's hair, inhaling the wonderfully familiar scent of his boyfriend's shampoo. “One thing at a time. Let's see how she adjusts to being in S.H.I.E.L.D. first.”

“You think Hill will pass her?”

“I'm fairly certain she'll find no reason to deny it.”

Clint relaxed a little against Phil's chest. His boyfriend was right. As usual. Patience was just not his particular virtue. At least not in situations like these.


	5. Lost it All When I Got Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for bearing with me on the sporadic updates. My personal life has been a bit turbulent as of late, but don't worry. This fic is finished and being beta-read.
> 
> Speaking of beta-readers, much love to mine as always.
> 
> And thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated!

When the security escort had arrived at her cell, Natasha had no clue where they were taking her. Dr. Barnes had only been able to tell her her that she was being taken to see Director Fury. And it had made it very clear that he wasn't coming to her... she was being taken to him upstairs. This was either good news or the worst possible news.

She entered Fury's penthouse office flanked on either side by a heavily armed security escort. Possibly heavier than the escort that had first met her at the Triskelion helipad. Automatic weapons. Kevlar. Even flash grenades. The thing that didn't make sense up until the door opening, was that she wasn't wearing handcuffs. That was a first outside her cell since she'd been in detention. She unconsciously rubbed her wrists as she padded down the hallway, still clad in her white medical clothes. The absence of the cuffs was the only thing about the trip that was oddly comforting.

The door in front of them opened to reveal all familiar faces. Some familiar from weeks of questioning and friendly visits to her in her basement cell. Some familiar from intel she'd received while working for the KGB. She glanced reflexively out the window. They were at least fifty stories up.

She smiled at Phil Coulson, and schooled a blush as Clint winked at her. But her stomach roiled as she faced Nick Fury and Maria Hill, the latter of whom had spared no expense of time or exactness in grilling her for the last week and a half. It dawned on Natasha that she'd never actually seen Nick Fury in the flesh before. In her line of work... well, what was her line of work, it was a little like meeting a foreign dignitary or famous writer. Except that she was fairly certain that Kurt Vonnegut didn't ever put out an order to kill her.

“Leave us, please.” Fury had curtly ordered to Natasha's guards. She glanced around as they made their exit, feeling suddenly and strangely naked without them trailing after her. “Good afternoon, Ms. Romanoff.” Fury greeted with a polite nod.

“Good afternoon, Mr... Director Fury.” she replied, her voice polite but distant. Her eyes were never in the same place second to second. Always glancing from face to face, trying to discern what was about to happen. Was she being released? Going to trial? Going back to Russia or extradited to another country? Only Clint... Agent Barton's face was any sort of giveaway. He was smiling, despite a poor attempt to hide it. She looked back to Fury. “How... How may I be of service to you?” She asked, knowing nothing better to say.

“Oh, in countless ways, I'm sure. Probably many that we can't even fathom yet.” Fury said, barely suppressing a smile. “You're being inducted into S.H.I.E.L.D. today.”

Natasha swallowed eyes going wide. “I'm sorry... what?” 

“That is... if you still want to join S.H.I.E.L.D.” Maria Hill chimed in. She was actually smiling too. Natasha wasn't sure she'd ever seen her smile.

“I... of course. Of course I do. But... what do I have to do?” Natasha asked, distrust and fear coloring her voice.

“Do? Nothing. At least at this point.” Fury explained. “Normally, you'd have a shit load of training and classes behind you. It takes years to gain the status of an active agent. But your interviews with Hill and Coulson have proven that you are a more than capable asset.”

“You're serious.” she said with flat disbelief.

“I am.” Fury nodded, with a smirk. “Agent Barton, you have her gear?”

“Yep. Got it right here, boss.” He replied, reaching into his jacket pocket as he stepped forward. “Here. Your badge, and a standard issue side arm. You'll... want to get something better. But it's a start.”

Natasha stared at the badge and gun, hands still by her side. She was escorted by a contingent of armed guards less than two minutes ago. Before that she's been kept in an aquarium and questioned relentlessly. And now, she was being given a gun and a badge. Just like that. “That's it?” she asked in a small voice.

“What do you mean?” Barton replied cocking his head.

“That's it? You just give me a badge. I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent now?”

“Well, we do want you to go through some remedial training before you're put on active status.” Coulson explained. “Partially so you'll understand our protocols, and also so we can further evaluate your abilities and find a place for you that best suits them. But yes. There's your badge and your side arm. That's it.” 

She held out her hands and collected the badge and gun, holding them in front of her like precious relics. “I still don't understand. I'm... I'm S.H.I.E.L.D.? That's... all?”

Clint turned and glanced at Phil. He felt like he was missing something. “Why wouldn't that be all?”

“You haven't read the file on the Red Room have you?” Hill asked, crossing her arms. Her mouth folded into a disapproving frown.

“Not in the greatest detail.” Clint replied in a clipped tone.

“You should have.”

He regarded Natasha hard for a moment. “I'll pass.” he said dryly. “We're done dealing with them anyway.”

That earned him disapproving frowns from around the room, save for Romanoff who was opening her badge with all the awe of a child on Christmas. There it was. A silver disc embossed with the S.H.I.E.L.D. eagle and her name. “I... Thank you.” she whispered, swiping over the cool metal with her thumb.

“Your training begins at 8am tomorrow.” Fury said, clasping his hands behind his back. “In addition to protocol classes and athletic training, you'll continue meeting with Dr. Barnes and her team to track your mental health. Your schedule will be in your room.” Romanoff nodded numbly. “I thank you for your patience with us while you were downstairs.”

“Of course.” she answered with a small smile. “It was far better than what I was expecting.”

“But that's that.” Fury said, putting out his hand. “Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., Agent Romanoff. Agent Barton, give her the grand tour if you don't mind?”

“Sure thing, boss.” he said with a quick nod.

When they'd finished sharing handshakes, Barton escorted the newly minted Agent Romanoff out of Fury's office. Coulson went to follow, but Fury stopped him.

“A moment, Agent Coulson. You too, Agent Hill.” he moved to sit behind his desk as the senior agents turned to face him. “I am glad we've done what we've done. Romanoff will be a valuable asset, and I believe in her commitment to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“I concur.” Hill chimed in.

“But that doesn't mean the work isn't over for us as far as she is concerned.”

“I also agree with that.” Coulson replied.

“Integration for her will be... difficult. Even if she hadn't killed a few dozen of our best agents. Coulson, with your permission, I'd like to assign her to you. She and Barton have a rapport, as do you. I think having friendly faces close at hand will help her integrate more successfully.”

“I agree, sir.”

“I'm also promoting you, Barton, and Romanoff to Level 5 Agents.”

Coulson, who had been unflappable so far, arched his eyebrows at that. “Thank you, Director. May I ask what prompted this?”

“It's just time, I think. Plus I feel like Barton still thinks I'm mad at him. I am. But maybe this will convince him otherwise.”

Phil snorted at that.

“Agent Hill, will you please go get that paperwork in order?”

“Yes, sir.” she replied curtly before giving a rare smile to Coulson and heading out the door.

“One more thing, Coulson.” He said, stopping him from following Hill.

“Of course, sir.” the smirk at the corner of his mouth made it obvious that he knew at least in part what was coming.

“Me planting Romanoff in your backyard isn't going to be a problem is it?”

“We've been over this, sir-”

“And I'd like to go over it again. Both as the Director, and as your friend.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Enough with the “sirs.” Level with me, Phil. I want to put them together because objectively I think their skills sets compliment each other, and because I don't want her to feel alone here. But man, it's so plainly obvious that he has feelings for her. He's trying to hide it for everyone's sake, including his own I think, but he has a shit poker face for things like this.”

“You're not telling me anything new.” Coulson replied with a smirk. 

“Is this going to be a problem?” Fury asked pointedly.

“No, Nick, it isn't.”

“If it becomes one, you will tell me.”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.” Fury let out a breath in relief. That made Coulson frown a little. He'd never seen Nick Fury truly worried about anything. “That's good. Because I'm... I have an ulterior motive here. There is a potential situation brewing involving some stolen weapons tech from Stark Industries. We've tracked its energy signatures to the central Russian wilderness, but it could have skipped borders. But I'm likely going to have your team on it.”

“Understood, sir. I'll check the conditions of our cold weather gear.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir.”

***

“Here we are!” Clint crowed as they rounded the corner to face one of the many doors in the S.H.I.E.L.D dormitory hallway. “Home, sweet home. Or what passes for it. Not sure… not sure what kind of accommodations you’re used to.” 

“Well, for the last several weeks it's been a hybrid hospital room and jail cell. So anything with a window will be an improvement.” she replied, as she fished the key out of her pocket.

“Well,” Clint sighed as he watched as Natasha fit the key to the lock and swing the door open. “It’s warm, and dry, and they feed you which was paradise to me when I first came here. Didn't take much to impress me.” 

Clint was right. The room was rather Spartan, but Natasha couldn’t help but smile as she walked in. The room smelled like furniture polish, and sunlight cut into the room in wide shafts through the open blinds making dust motes wink as they drifted through the air. White sheets, and clean clothes were folded neatly on the dresser. Clint heard Natasha take a deep, steadying breath.

“You okay?” He asked, when he noticed she was gripping the door frame. He had to fight the urge to put a hand on her shoulder.

She dropped her eyes away from the room and turned towards him slightly, still keeping her gaze lowered as she spoke. “You really didn’t read the file on the Red Room.”

“I read some.” Clint said, trying to shrug casually. “But not anything beyond what I… What I needed to track you.”

“Kill me.” she corrected, looking up at him.

He swallowed hard, not looking at her. “Yeah.” he answered, suddenly finding the laces of his shoes very interesting.

“Why don’t you read it now?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Honestly?”

“Please.”

“Because I want you to tell me about the Red Room in your own time, if you want to. You deserve that.” He answered, finally leveling his eyes to hers. “You've been pumped for information about all that for weeks by who knows how many people. If you want to talk about it I'll listen, but I won't ask.”

“Thank you.” she said softly. “Can I ask you something, then?”

“Sure, of course.”

“You described this room as ‘warm and dry.’ Why?” she asked in a neutral voice as she traipsed into the dorm room, fingers sliding along each wood surface that she passed.

“Because I frequently lived in places that… weren’t so much.” Clint replied. “I’m an orphan. I had an older brother but he wasn’t good for much. And it’s hard for a deaf kid to make a living.”

“Deaf?” she asked, rounding on him with a frown.

“You hadn’t noticed the hearing aids?” he pointed to his ears.

“Thought it was weird for you to be wearing an in-ear comm while not on mission but…”

“Well, there you go.”

“Do you sign?”

“Yes, I sign.” he responded, both speaking and signing.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling. “I don’t.”

“I’ll have to teach you. It comes in handy on missions, hearing or no.”

An awkward silence fell between them as Natasha picked over her new clothes and furnishings.

“How about I go fetch us something from the cafeteria?” Clint offered, trying to seem casual. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

She nodded, though she was lying a bit. Even though she hadn't eat in several hours, her stomach was in knots.

“I’ll be right back. We can do the tour after we eat.” he turned to go. 

“Agent Barton?”

He stuck his head back in the door frame. “Yep?”

Natasha pulled apart the fitted sheet and began to make her bed as she spoke. “The bedrooms in the Red Room were very luxurious.” she told him, her voice even and detached. “Not at all like this. We had soft, silk sheets. Heavy down comforters. Thick curtains and dark wood furniture. And I had a roommate that I shared the bed with. A young girl, my own age. And I had to square with the fact that I would have to kill her one day. Or she would kill me. And I sometimes wondered if it would be easier… kinder even, to just smother her in her sleep.”

Clint was quiet for a moment before licking his suddenly dry lips and asking. “But you didn't do it.”

“Another girl in my squad killed her roommate during the first month. They had me kill her instead and I got her room.”

Cling blinked twice. He had no idea what to say to that. A thousand prying questions swirled in his head. How did she have to kill the girl? How old was she when this happened? Did she really have to sleep in a bed where another girl was murdered? What happened to her roommate? He swallowed them all down because he had promised to let her tell him about all that in her own time. Instead, he spoke as casually as he could manage. “I’ll go get us some food. And Natasha?”

“Hmm?” She looked up at him, her expression schooled to complete neutrality.

“It's Clint.”

She nodded, her lips curling into a ghost of a smile before she returned to making her bed.

When Clint returned with a sack full of sandwiches from the cafeteria, he found that Natasha had changed out of her hospital clothes and into regulation work out gear. She wore the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo proudly across her chest, even if it was a little lopsided because the t-shirt was at least one size too big for her bony frame. It made Clint smile. Especially when he noticed that her white hospital clothes were in the trash and her badge was clipped to her waistband.


	6. Breaking Horses in the Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mention of panic attacks and PTSD
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta readers! Y'all are the best!
> 
> And of course, thank for reading. Feedback is always appreciated. Much love!

Natasha's schedule was full for the next week. Each hour of every day was packed with classes to attend, PT tests to take, combat drills to run, and occasionally the odd therapy session to go to. Clint had seen the schedule Fury laid out for her when they'd had lunch during her first official day, and he'd balked. His days hadn't been this regimented when he was at the Academy. She didn't seem taken aback however. But that didn't stop Clint from asking about it as he gave her the grand tour of the Triskelion.

“Just like days at the Red Room.” she'd said, with a shrug far too casual for the statement. “At least I know here killing fellow agents is not on the schedule.”

“Well, don't get ahead of yourself. Agent Hill is running your combat drill, and it looks like Melinda May is on that rotation.”

Her eyes widened a fraction before she could school her expression.

“Kidding.” Clint said lamely. “Though Agent May is pretty legendary in hand to hand.”

“I know the name. She was a bit of a thorn in the KGB's side to say the least. You ever gone up against her?”

“Once, back when I first graduated. I was cocky and stupid, and I dunno... she doesn't look like much of a threat. She doesn't have that combat look... stance... whatever. She's really unassuming, especially to a dumb baby agent like I was. Anyway, needless to say, she used my face to shine the sparring mats.”

Natasha smiled at the image.

“I noticed your accent is gone.” Clint pointed out.

“I can fake most any common accent.” she answered. “And I speak seven languages. Though I suppose it will be eight soon.”

“That's impressive.” He said, smiling.

“It's part of the Red Room skill set. I'm surprised it's not more common for agents to be at least somewhat multilingual here.”

“Linguistics is treated like a pretty specialized skill. There's not many that can hold a candle to your Swiss Army knife of skills.” He responded. “But you're... you're not undercover here. So why hide the accent?”

She dropped her gaze to her feet. “I sometimes feel like I am. I at least get noticed less when I sound like an American. Nothing good ever comes from my getting recognized.”

“No one's giving you trouble are they?” Embarrassingly, Clint could already feel himself involuntarily puffing up like a pissed off cat.

She laughed and shook her head. “No. Just... very long glances that aren't entirely friendly.”

“Well, I won't bring it up again because I don't want to nag, but tell me if something's wrong, okay? “

She nodded, and even though he didn't think she was really agreeing, he let it go.

He did speak to Phil about it though.

“Did she say anything about feeling overwhelmed?” he had asked as Clint flung himself down across his office couch.

“No, it seemed to be pretty routine to her.”

“Probably is, given what she's said about her training.”

“I'm just worried about her.”

“Couldn't tell.” Phil responded with a snide smirk.

Clint's ears turned pink as he scowled. “You know why, and you should be, too. She has panic attacks and PTSD remember? What if combat training sets her off? She might eat someone.”

Phil chucked at the hyperbole. “She has the best medical and psychiatric care there is. I think panic attacks are the least of our worries regarding Agent Romanoff.”

“So you agree we should be worrying.” he replied with a flat look.

Phil pressed his lips together and didn't say anything, choosing instead to stare hard out the window.

“Why should we be worrying?” Clint pressed, stepping into Phil's line of sight.

Phil huffed out a heavy sigh. “Because she and the organization she comes from has done a lot of harm to S.H.I.E.L.D. And there are some people who are not like to forget it soon. Especially if they lost a partner, or friend, or squad mate to her or another Red Room asset. Some of those agents are here at the Triskelion.”

Clint had to agree with that. “I've been wondering actually how we might handle that. She's already gotten a little bit of negative attention. Just looks and whispers. Nothing... overt. But it's enough to make her mask her accent for fear of people figuring out who she is.”

“I'm sure Director Fury has a plan. He's not having Hill stick close to Romanoff so they can braid each other's hair.”

Clint snorted. “True. Though I'd pay good money to see that.”

“Anyway, I've got just the thing to keep you occupied while Romanoff settles in.”

Clint couldn't suppress a groan. “What.” 

“Oh, quit it. It's your favorite kind of detail. The UN is in New York City for a three day long summit, and the ambassador from France has had numerous death threats levied against him. You're on security detail. Wheels are up in less than twenty four hours so go make sure your gear is in order.”

“Perches on some of the tallest buildings in the continent from which to watch international ants scurry about while trying to figure out which one is about to off another from God knows how far away? Boss, you always get me the best things.” He winked and bounced from the room.

“You're welcome.” Coulson replied, watching him leave with a fond smile.

***

When Clint returned from New York City, the first thing he did was track down Natasha. He made some inquiries and found out, that she was on the sparring rotation that day, so he made his way to the gym and monkeyed himself up into the rafters under the guise of wanting to practice his aerial shooting. Maybe he was biased because of his job, but it really was the best seat in the house for watching just about anything.

Natasha had just wrapped up a round with Melinda May which had apparently ended in a draw, but none the less left both of them sweaty and heaving for breath. But they were both smiling, which warmed Clint's heart even though he hated he missed actually seeing that fight. As Agent May exited the floor, two strapping agents took her place, both at least a head taller than petite Romanoff. It took Clint a bit of thinking to place them. Agents Anders and Choi, if he remembered correctly. The swivel and swagger of their shoulders reminded Clint of the time he'd tried his luck against Agent May. As Clint settled in on one of the braces near the ceiling, they all shook hands and waited for Agent Hill to give the word to begin.

This was going to be good... 

When the signal was given, Choi and Anders immediately began circling. Natasha remained unmoving, watching them as the spiraled around her, eyes sliding over them visibly calculating gait and reach, and cataloging stances and matching them to fighting styles. They'd barely made a full circuit before Anders moved in on her. He went to deliver a swinging kick which Natasha ducked before lunging at him. She climbed him like a cat scaling a tree before using her weight to knock him off balance and sling him to the floor in an undignified heap. 

She was back on her feet lightning fast, stepping deftly over Anders as he crawled towards the edge of the mat. Choi, clearly schooled by his partner's impatience, tried to keep his distance but Natasha closed the gap quickly. She feigned a punch to the face, forcing him to block high, before she delivered a swift kick to the inside of his left knee. That sent him to the mat clutching the joint with a howl of pain.

“Agent Choi, are you alright?” Hill asked, moving to kneel over him.

“I'm... I'm fine.” He panted, taking Natasha's offered hand. “She... She just got me on my bad knee is all. Lucky break.” He said, winking at her as he gingerly tested his weight on his left leg. “It's all good. Will just need some ice tonight.”

“Wasn't luck.” She replied with a shrug. “I can see the scars from where you had surgery on it. And you should really get a tan without your brace. Plus, you still favor that side. It's not a limp. It's just habit.”

Choi and Hill both just blinked.

She paused and licked her lips, guilt flickering across her face. “Are you sure you're not hurt? I've got some of that Icy Hot stuff in my locker. Want me to grab it?” she offered.

“No, no I'm fine honestly.” he assured her, still smiling. “I think I was more surprised than anything and I'm just a little nervous about taking hits to that knee. Had surgery on it twice. Like you said. Old habits.”

“Okay everybody.” Hill piped up. “Lets take five. Get some water. Stretch. And then we'll have a little competition. Pair off and whoever wins the most matches goes up against May and Romanoff.”

Clint smiled to himself up in his perch watching Natasha and Agent May exchange excited smiles as Natasha shook hands with Anders and Choi. He was so glad she was settling into her life here at S.H.I.E.L.D.

But no sooner had that thought cleared his head, then a metallic glint caught his eye. Down at the edge of the sparring ring. There was no metal allowed in the ring except in special cases. Clint looked close and saw that one of the agents in the group had pulled a slim knife and was walking towards-

“NATASHA, BEHIND YOU!” he shouted, as he pulled, drew, and fired one of the padded arrows from his quiver. It caught her assailant in the stomach, knocking him back and buying her enough time to kick the knife from his hand, and plant her heel across his jaw with a sickening crack. He went flying across the mat, blood dripping from his lips as he sputtered.

Above the chaos, Clint could hear the assailant shouting. “Fucking whore, thinks she can come in here and just take up with us.” May and Choi were on him in no time, dragging him as he spat at Natasha. “Fucking thinks she can be S.H.I.E.L.D. when she spent years slaughtering us.”

“Get his ass out of here.” Hill ordered to the agents restraining him. “The brig. I'll deal with him.”

By now, Clint had clambered down from the rafters and made his way to Natasha. “Are you okay?” He asked, searching her face.

“I'm... I'm fine. Why did you do that? I could have taken him.” She shook her head, her face twisted into a confused frown.

“Not before he slipped that knife between your ribs.” Clint responded with a firm shake of his head.

“I've fought through worse.”

“But you don't have to.” By now everyone had backed away to give the two of them some space. “Look, Natasha. I know that in the Red Room, you were trained to be solo operatives, yeah? Completely self sufficient?”

She nodded, not looking at him.

“That's not us.” he said, ducking his head into her line of sight to force her to look up. “That's not S.H.I.E.L.D. We help each other. We train to work together because no one can do it all on their own. I helped you because I didn't want to see you hurt. Think about it this way if you like... it would have been a waste for you to get hurt. Okay?” It wasn't what he wanted to say. Not even a close, but he knew it was what she would need to hear. And it wasn't wrong... it was just a giant lie as far as his feelings were concerned.

She nodded sullenly, still really looking at him. By then, Maria Hill had come over to check on her, making no effort to hide the fact that she was looking for symptoms of panic or PTSD. “I think that's all for today.” she told the group when she was satisfied. “I have to go see to Bradbury's disciplinary paperwork. And rest assured,” She turned back to Natasha. “It will be quite severe.”

Natasha still didn't look up. 

“You're sure you're alright?” Hill asked, looking her over again.

“He didn't hit me.”

“That wasn't what I asked.” Hill answered before giving a very pointed look to Barton and heading off after the others.

“Hey,” Clint elbowed Natasha. “Lets go a few rounds... you and me. I could use some hand to hand practice and you probably want to beat the stuffing out of me anyways, so it's a win win.”

She cracked a small smile at that and nodded.

“Win win, indeed.” Clint thought. “But I'll likely regret this later.”

***

As it turns out, he did end up regretting it, to Phil's seemingly endless amusement. At first he had fussed over every little bruise (of which there were many, as Natasha had spared no expense in whipping Clint's ass), but now that he was medicated, sans hearing aids, and carrying around an ice pack, Phil made no effort to hide his giggles as Clint winced with every step.

“Fuck you.” He signed, flopping down on the couch and immediately regretting his carelessness when a pillow dug into his lightly bruised ribs. “She'd wipe the floor with you, too. She even made May break a sweat.”

“Wow, they kicked the training wheels off quick.” Phil replied after he sat down beside Clint with two mugs of tea in hand. “And yes, you're absolutely right. May took great pleasure in teaching me precisely how many ways there are to knock someone on their ass back when we were in the Academy. That's why I tend stay away from field work. I'm way too old to be getting the crap beaten out of me. You got to see her and May go at it though?”

“Just the tail end.” Clint signed before taking a sip of his tea. “They had clearly figured out that they were evenly matched, so they were being careful... wearing each other down. Fight would have gone on forever if Hill hadn't called time.”

“I would have loved to have seen that.” Phil mused.

“I'll bet.” Clint signed with a snort.

“Jealous?”

“Of May? Fuck no. Well, except that she can do things with her thighs that no mortal should be able to attempt without a dislocation. But then again, from what I saw, so can Natasha.”

Phil nearly snorted very hot tea through his nose. As he wiped his face with the back of his hand, he noticed Clint's expression had gone serious.

“Are you jealous?” Clint asked after a moment. “About...” he found he still couldn't really bring himself to admit it.

“No, not at all.” Phil responded lightly , scooting a little closer so their shoulders touched. “Why do you ask?”

Clint swallowed leaning on him slightly despite the pressure it put on his bruises. “Did you hear about what happened in the gym today during Romanoff's rotation?”

Phil shook his head, concern drifting down over his face. “No, I spent the whole day buried in intel from Fury.”

“Someone pulled a knife on Romanoff.”

“No.” Phil mouthed the word as he signed it, his eyes wide with disbelief. “In the ring? Who?”

Clint just nodded a fraction. “Bradbury. Just pulled a knife and went after her. I saw it and shot him with one of my practice arrows and bought her the time to defend herself.”

“She's okay though?”

“Yeah, he never got to her. And she was cool as a cucumber. I was half expecting her to panic. Or kill him. Not that anyone around could or would have stopped her before she flayed him alive. She was mad at me though.”

“Why?”

“I mean, she didn't stay upset. We ah... worked through it.” he gestured to the icepack on his ribs.

“She was seriously upset with you for saving her?”

“Just... you and Fury were both right to think she'd need some remedial work on field protocol. Like... I figured it was just procedure stuff, but there's more to it than that. Red Room agents are trained to fly solo. No backup or partners or handlers. To the point that she felt... I don't know. Not embarrassed, but let down by the fact that I kept her from getting stabbed. It's not like she's hostile to the idea, but it's almost as if it's not in her vocabulary. She found it really jarring that she could expect help from outside her own abilities and resources.”

Phil nodded. “She's okay though?”

“Oh yeah. Not a scratch on her, from either Bradbury or me. I'm fairly certain he has at least a few loose teeth. And she lightened up once we got to sparring and she saw some of the other agents running cooperative drills.”

“Good. I'm sure it will just take some getting used to for her.”

“So, what does Fury have you working on. You said you were buried in intel all day?”

“There's been some tech stolen from Stark Industries. Something to do with weapons integration and computer systems. We aren't sure because Stark of course keeps everything under lock and key and buried under six feet of reinforced cement.”

“Who stole it?”

“We don't really know that either. Just their general location because of the energy signatures given off. Don't think it's any of our known threats.”

“Energy signatures? Like radiation?”

“Not really... there's an organization to the energy pulses. The front-running theory is that it's used for some sort of communication. We're working on figuring out what it takes to read these pulses, but in the mean time, we're looking into this group's previous known locations and allies to try and figure out who they are and what they're up to.”

“Are they hostile?” 

“We're guessing that if they're stealing weapons tech, a good guess is probably.”

Clint nodded. “Think there will be an op soon?”

“Possibly. Depends on a lot of factors. How fast R&D works... if they launch some sort of attack... the usual.”

“Sad that that's the usual.”

“Agreed, but that being the usual is why we have jobs.”

“True. And I like my job. Even if it gives me bruised ribs.”

“Me too.”

“Think Romanoff will be in on this one?”

“Quite possibly if she's feeling up for it. The Mighty Fury has hinted thusly.” Phil answered dramatically.

Clint snorted and nodded before burying himself under Phil's arm, wincing as he leaned on his bruised ribs.

***

 

Natasha had been trying to study a S.H.I.E.L.D. field manual for the last hour with no success. She tried to stuff the words about procedure and protocol into her head but nothing would muffle the loop of vicious words from her attacker the previous afternoon. It had played in her head all night keeping her from any real sleep.

“Think you can be S.H.I.E.L.D.” he had said. She looked balefully around her tiny dorm room and took a slow breath. He was right. She really didn’t belong here. Where there was sunlight… and second chances. And Clint, and Phil… She wasn’t made for these things. She was made for…

A sharp knock roused her from her mournful musings. “Come.” she answered. “It’s unlocked.”

Clint poked his head through the door, making her stomach twist guiltily. “Hey. Surprised you left it unlocked. After yesterday, I mean. Can I come in?”

“Of course.” she responded, tenting her book over her knee. “Hill assured me it was just one bad apple. Apparently, a Red Room operative got his partner that came up with him through your Academy. Put a harpoon through his stomach, too.”

“Ouch. Still doesn’t excuse him trying to knife you.”

Natasha shrugged like she wasn’t convinced.

“Come on. Let’s grab dinner. And then I’m going to teach you some sign language.”

“What? Now?”

“It’ll be fun. You can come eat pizza like a good God-fearing American-”

“I’m agnostic, and technically I’m not an-”

“Hush.” he waved his hand at her. “And then I’ll teach you American Sign Language. The stuff Phil and I use when we’re on ops to start.” He held out his hand to her. “Come on. I bet you haven’t even left the Triskelion yet.”

“I’m not really dressed to-”

“And I look like I just rolled out of bed because I spent the last hour and a half in a sniper blind out on the range. Food and learning! Come on.”

Such exuberance was tough to resist, so she gave him her hand and he hauled her out the door.

***


	7. And Every Cloud on the Horizon

A week after the incident in the sparring room, Fury called Coulson, Barton, and Romanoff to his office upstairs. As they all made the trek from the elevator down what Clint was certain was meant to be an ominously long hallway, he couldn't resist glancing over at Natasha. She was immaculately dressed in her standard S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform. Her hair was slicked back into a smart ponytail making her face look even more severe than normal, and she stared unwaveringly ahead as they tailed behind Coulson.

Clint elbowed her as they walked, shooting her an easy half-smile. “Don't worry. Going to talk to Fury always feels like getting called to the principle's office, regardless of whether or not you're actually in trouble. Coulson will do the talking.”

A smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. “I take it you're in trouble a lot?”

“What gave it away?” he responded with his best roguish grin.

“The fact that you brought home a stray Russian spy, and no one seemed entirely shocked?” she offered.

“For the record, I was shocked.” Phil responded over his shoulder.

“No, Romanoff, you were a first for me in that department.”

“Yeah, and you can't say you never miss a mark anymore either.” chided Phil.

“Oh, yes I can. I never actually shot at her. Therefore, I didn't miss. Under-achievers unite!” he pumped a fist in the air.

That actually earned him a laugh. “Am I supposed to say thank you?” Natasha asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Stow the chatter.” Phil said over his shoulder as they reached the end of the hall, barely schooling his own smile. “Here we go.”

The door to Fury's penthouse office swung open to reveal the Director sitting at his desk with Agent Hill standing off to his right, with a posture not unlike that of a knight's page.

“Afternoon Agents.” Director Fury greeted cheerily. “I've got an op for you. All three of you as it turns out.”

“All three of us?” Coulson parroted with a frown.

“That is correct. As of right now, you will begin receiving your ops directly from me.You are all as of now my newly minted Strike Team Delta. Congrats.”

Clint blinked a few times in surprise, as did Coulson. Romanoff was the only one whose expression did not change. Her face was a mask that stared unblinking out the office window. If she had been any more still, she might have turned to stone.

“Does this mean I'm going into the field as well, boss?” Phil asked.

“In this case, yes. You'll still be working logistics, data collection, and communication but because outside communication cannot be guaranteed on this op, you'll have to go in with them.”

“Understood, sir.” Coulson responded smartly.

“So... before we get started, be warned. You'll have no way to call for backup, but I'm hoping for this to be a simple recon situation. And for that reason, don't engage. Just look. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Coulson nodded. “So where are you mailing us off to?”

“The middle of Bum-Fuck Russia. Population: these weird energy pulses and as far as we can tell, fuck all else.” Fury pointed on the wall behind them as a topographical map was projected. It showed a compound in the middle of a clearing with what looked like echolocation pings originating at the center. “This is the latest satellite image, dated about a month ago before these pulses started. It’s an abandoned textile factory from back in the good old Commie days, but we can’t say much more about what’s inside it now other than not much comes or goes. So whatever’s there, they took on their first trip in.”

“Who are we going after?”

“We still don't have any names, but we do have a pattern of behavior, which is somewhat more helpful. This group's members have been the architects of several tech thefts over the last year, the most recent being a break-in at Stark Industries when they presumably stole whatever is making these pulses. After that theft, they've ceased all external activity, not that there was much to begin with. They were pretty reclusive. And speaking of reclusive, naturally we can't get the Stark people to comment on what was stolen,.”

“Are the pulses dangerous?” Clint asked.

“No. Other than frying radio waves, there don't seem to be any major plant or animal die-offs that would indicate danger to life.” Fury replied. 

“So... these people are tech thieves? Do we think they're selling it? Reverse engineering it?” Coulson asked.

“We aren't sure. And there's one other thing about them that I hadn't mentioned. They are known associates of the Red Room.”

Clint glanced at Natasha expecting a reaction, but she remained utterly stone-faced.

“Associated how?” Coulson asked.

“They purchased the services of at least two of the Red Room's operatives about two years ago.”

“How did they use them?”

“We don't know. Our best guess is a botched break in? They never appeared on our radar after the initial contract. They are presumed dead or deep undercover, but regardless, we have to consider that they might still be in play.”

“So what's our plan. Just surveillance?” Clint asked.

“Yes. For now.” Fury confirmed. “Have a look at the map.” He zoomed in on the dot that marked the compound. “The ring surrounding the site is where we lose comms and surveillance, so it's a safe bet you might lose navigation as well. Take a Quinjet in, do a sweep, and then out again. You will have to fly in manually, and you will be on your own. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” Barton and Coulson chorused.

Fury's one-eyed stare slid off of them and onto Romanoff who stood totally still and expressionless. “Romanoff, you're awfully quiet. I would hear your thoughts. Any of this ringing any bells.”

“No sir.” she answered crisply. A beat of silence followed her reply as her brow bent into a thoughtful frown. “Though... I...” She trailed off, looking away.

“Go ahead, Agent. Ask questions. Give theories. There's no punishment here for either.” Fury encouraged with a gentleness that shocked everyone else in the room. Even Hill.

She swallowed, eyes staring out the plate glass over Fury's head. “Do you know the names of the Red Room operatives sent to these people?”

“Yes, we do have that information.” Fury replied, drawing the words out as he clattered on his keyboard. “Zinaida and Darya. Ring any bells?”

“Yes, sir. They were both in my class, among the first to be given assignments.” She told them mechanically. “The group contracting them was known as The Propagation and they wanted them for infiltration. They were probably involved in the break in at Stark or another similar firm. Or possibly a theft from a military facility.”

“Anything unusual you can tell me about them?”

“Not about them, no. They were just like all of us. But...” Her frown deepened.

“Go on.”

“I did find it odd that they asked for two of them.”

“Why is that odd?” Clint asked, cocking his head.

“Usually contracts were for single assets. It was strange that they wanted two. We're not... we weren't like body guards or soldiers. We are... were specialists. And we came with a hefty price tag.”

“You still are a specialist. You're just our specialist.” Coulson pointed out, which made her expression soften. “That is strange though... now that I think about it, I don't think I've ever seen more than one Red Room operative in any given place. Why did they need two?”

“And they bought them outright.” Romanoff pointed out. “They weren't given a contract or an objective or mark... they were bought by The Propagation. We never saw them again.”

“That is unusual.” Fury muttered before inclining his head towards her. “Thank you for your insight, Agent Romanoff. Don't ever hesitate to give it to me in the future.”

“Yes, sir.” she responded resuming her stance at parade rest.

“So that's that. You all will be briefed tomorrow, and wheels are up that evening. Go home. Get some rest. It will be a long and cold few days.”

“Russia in December.” Clint mused as the filed out of the office. “This is going to be awesome. Didn't Napoleon and Hitler already learn the lesson about invading that country in winter?” 

“At least we have a QuinJet.” Coulson pointed out.

“There is that.” he agreed.

***

“Well, so much for the QuinJet.” Clint said, unhooking himself from his chute as they watched the plane go sailing into the trees. “And just for the record. So much for my hearing aids.”

As soon as they had entered the pulse radius everything on board the plane went dead. Navigation. Cloaking. Flight controls. Comms. The works. All fried, and they'd been forced to grab what gear they could and evacuate via good old fashioned gravity.

“And so much for a quiet entrance.” Coulson both signed and spoke before unhooking his own chute and pulling up the hood of his parka. “Everyone okay?”

Barton and Romanoff nodded as they checked their gear.

“Romanoff, do you sign?”

“A little.” she both signed and spoke. “Barton taught me the field basics, and letters and numbers. We’ve run some… drills with it.” She fumbled for the word “drills” and instead signed “practice.”

“Anything on the radio?” Barton asked, with a resigned look that foreshadowed the answer.

“Not a thing.” Coulson answered shaking his head. He cast a wary eye up at the slate gray sky and couldn't suppress a shiver as a gust of wind came howling out of the west. “We're on our own.”

“So what's the plan?” Romanoff asked as she checked her weapons for damage from the landing.

“Well... in anticipation of this problem. Well. The navigation problem anyway. I brought a hard copy map.” He reached into his pack and unfolded a large detailed map of the region. “We are... here.” He pointed to the edge of the forest that surrounded one side of the compound. “Just inside the dead zone.”

“It's what... two miles to the compound, looks like?” she replied, frowning at the map over his shoulder. She awkwardly reached around Coulson to sign “two miles.”

“Looks like.” Phil replied nodding, somewhat cheerily as he tucked the map away again. “And the terrain looks to be able to provide us some cover to go forward with our mission.” He signed the last as well as spoke.

“Nice to know you're still optimistic.” Barton rolled his eyes and cinched his hood down around his face. “Remind me again... Whose idea was it to invade Russia in winter? It always goes like this! Look it up!”

“Please. It's not even that cold.” Romanoff rebuffed as they started walking towards the trees.

“I already can't feel my toes, Romanoff.”

“Not my fault he has poor circulation.” She remarked to Phil, who kindly signed for her. “Maybe you should try actually running training drills instead of being my punching bag.”

“Hey, I am not your punching bag. I actually hit you last time!”

“Yes, and then I arm-locked you and gave you an excellent view of the stitching on the mats.”

“Alright, alright both of you. Mission. You can argue about... whatever later.” Coulson could barely contain his grin. Despite their current situation, he liked seeing them like this... bantering and teasing. It was so cute it made his teeth hurt, but he couldn't keep up with translating when they were being sassy.

They walked the rest of the way in silence until they reached the far side of the trees. When the compound's hastily constructed corrugated metal walls were in sight, Coulson signaled for them to halt and then signed to Barton. “Up a tree. Signal what you see.”

With a curt nod, Barton stowed his bow over one shoulder and scaled the nearest tree, finding a perch about two thirds of the way from the top. He drew his bow and began visually sweeping before signing down. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Nothing what?”

“Nothing. No people. No vehicles. No movement.”

Coulson frowned at Romanoff and then back up at Barton. “Climb down. Let's pick another vantage point.”

Barton nodded and hurried down. “This way.” he signed and pointed. “There's a small rise in elevation so I might be able to get a better look over the outer wall. Couldn't actually see the ground here.”

Coulson nodded and gestured with one arm for him to lead the way, as he drew his side arm with the other. Romanoff followed behind them, both pistols already drawn.

The next vantage point was much better, but what it revealed did nothing to assuage everyone's tight nerves.

“Bodies.” had been the only thing Barton had signed down.

“No one alive?” Coulson had responded, wide eyed.

“Not that I can see.”

“Any blood? Weapons? Signs of violence of trauma?”

Barton just shook his head. “Not that I can see. Do we... want to go in?”

Coulson frowned for a moment. “I think we should. If we picked up this energy surge, someone else could as well and we don't want this tech falling into the wrong hands. Clearly there's grounds for thinking it's dangerous.”

“I agree.” Clint responded before clambering down the tree.

“So do I.” Romanoff answered.

“Just so we're clear.” Coulson was whispering now to avoid any misunderstanding for Romanoff. “We go in there with no back up. No extraction. We don't even have our plane. I'm not going to order us to go off script and into danger like that unless you're both in agreement.”

“Understood, boss.” Barton replied, pulling his bow off his shoulder.

“I understand, sir.” Romanoff replied.

“Okay. First things first. We should procure a ride out of here if there's one to be found.” Coulson said.

“There's a long metal building with roll-top doors near the entrance about one hundred yards from here. That might be out best bet for any sort of transportation.” Barton offered, pointing.

“Then we'll head there first. Eyes open everyone. Let's go.”

***


	8. My Cathedral is the Badlands

***

Between weeks of neglect in the elements and Romanoff’s superb lock picking skills, the heavy barred gates at the entrance to the complex proved easy enough to open. But the sight that awaited them as the hinges noisily ground open was a horror show that none of them had expected. The streets were strewn with bodies. They were decayed as much as the cold had allowed, which left most of their features intact, save where scavengers had tried to grab an easy meal. All their faces, or what was left of them, were contorted into silent screams of anguish, visages made more chilling by lips that had sunken over white teeth, and eyes that had clouded with rot.

But most disturbing of all was the fact that on many of the corpses, some sort of cybernetic enhancements were visible. Some were obvious like robotic eyes or entire hands made of smoothly jointed chrome. Others had internal enhancements exposed by scavengers’ teeth. Some still had pale green lights that blinked steadily.

“What the hell…” Barton breathed, crouching down next to the first body they came to. It appeared to be a young woman, whose face was bisected vertically by a wide scar that crawled up past her hairline. A vulture had ripped away part of her scalp which revealed a smooth plate attached to her skull with tiny screws. “What is this, Coulson?” Clint asked looking up.

“I… I don’t know.” Phil responded, shaking his head as he gestured. “Nothing in our intel indicated human experimentation with cybernetics.”

“This doesn’t look like experimenting, boss.” Barton replied, standing and scanning the immediate area. “This looks like implementation. I’m seeing enough of these things to assume everyone has at least one.”

“Come on.” Coulson said, shaking himself. “Lets secure a way out of here before we do anything else.” He turned towards the metal building that Barton had pointed to earlier, and his partners followed after him in a daze.

Barton's instincts had been correct, as usual. The building with the long row of roll top doors had turned out to be a garage with a few military grade Humvees. They were beat up but serviceable and full up on gas. The keys were even in the ignition. As they opened the doors and cleared a route to the gate, Coulson walked them through the next steps.

“Alright. We have a ride, and this should take us to the nearest safe house which is a few hours’ drive from here if we floor it. I'll know for sure once we're out of the pulse radius.” He told them, keeping his voice low as he signed for Barton. “Now we go explore. We keep together. Barton, scout ahead and signal back with what you’re seeing. Anything other than dead bodies, you double back and we approach together. Romanoff, stay behind me and watch our six. I’ll do my best to document what we’re seeing. Given that we have no working electronics currently, that will prove to be a challenge, but I'll do my best.”

“Got it. But… Coulson. What the fuck is this? These people look like they died in a lot of pain.” Barton asked, real fear showing on his face for the first time.

“I don’t know.” he answered. “But it has something to do with the tech they stole from Stark Industries, and if I had to guess, that tech is probably what killed these people. So that's all the more reason for us to get it back to S.H.I.E.L.D.. And you’re right. I think we’re safe in the assumption that everyone is cybernetically enhanced. And we’re also safe in guessing that everyone might not be fried. Stay alert.”

“Yes, sir.” Romanoff replied mechanically before swinging around and following Barton and Coulson out of the garage.

Everywhere the trio of agents went, there were bodies strewn about. It was as if everyone in the compound had all run out of the buildings at once, their faces still locked into the screams that must have scared every bird for miles. They started off checking each building they passed but soon, the state of the compound became clear. Whatever had happened had happened suddenly. Probably in the middle of the day, judging by the fact that everyone was clothed and many were working. The most unsettling thing, were the glowing lights on every single cybernetic part, and the fact that they all blinked at the same rate. Coulson did his best to document their placement and perceived function, but there was only so much he could do without a working camera or computer.

The compound appeared to have been co-opted to be entirely residential. There were some makeshift farms and barns with livestock (all of which had fled, probably in the commotion of whatever had transpired and killed everyone.). Accommodations were modest but comfortable and suited to the local climate. There was no religious iconography or political writing to be found, nor were there any obvious stockpiles of weapons. And nothing electronic was operational, despite the lack of any sort of easily visible damage.

“I have a feeling it's going to be more of the same, boss.” Barton signed as they turned down the fifth street.

“I agree, but there's one more place we need to go.” As Romanoff circled the two of them keeping watch, Coulson pulled out the satellite map of the compound and pointed. “Here.” he passed the picture to Barton so he could sign. “It's the center of the town, and the point of origin for these pulses.”

“And that building is... there.” Barton scanned the tops of the squat metal buildings before he pointed towards what looked like a radio tower that spiked up from roof lines.

“Let's move. Daylight is in shorter supply up here and it's not getting any warmer.” Coulson instructed, before pocketing the map and signaling. “Move up, Barton.”

Barton nodded, loosely nocked an arrow and trotted ahead.

“I swear, it's not that cold.” Romanoff sighed to herself as she trailed after them.

The central building of the compound was composed of the same slate gray metal that made up the rest of the compound. All roads, in the compound, save the one that lead out of the main gate, doubled back to this place, and the bodies seemed to have accumulated most at that location. The three agents circled around it finding only one way inside the cylindrical building, which was surprisingly unlocked.

Coulson switched to signing. “Romanoff, you first. Barton, cover our entrance. Whatever is making these pulses is inside this structure.”

Romanoff gave a tight nod and pulled her flashlight, balancing one pistol atop it. She led them in, Coulson tailing a few steps behind, also with gun and flashlight in hand. The hallway banked left and right, clearly skirting whatever was in the central room of the building. Romanoff veered right, as Coulson scanned for enemies from the other direction. There were no bodies here. Just gray corrugated metal walls and concrete floors.

And the distinct hum of electronics. Romanoff and Coulson exchanged worried looks as they adjusted their grips on their weapons. Cautiously, Coulson stepped up to the inner wall and rapped on it with the handle of the flashlight. The dull knock that resulted confirmed his suspicions.

“Insulated.” he whispered, quickly holstering his pistol so as to have his hands mostly free. “Steel over concrete.” he signed. “And we can hear noise that sounds like electronic humming.”

Clint nodded, tightening his grip on the handle of his bow.

As they rounded the bend, a faint greenish glow emanated from what appeared to be an open doorway. The three agents fanned out inside and began to look over what appeared to be some sort of hyper-advanced computer, with two rows of silver metal coffins lined up behind it. Coulson glanced at his colleagues before sitting down at the console. Barton and Romanoff took up sentry positions behind him, their shoulders briefly touching as they checked their gear.

Coulson set to typing at the prompt, finding the whole computer completely unprotected as far as encryption or passwords. He frowned at this but pressed on. He'd have given anything to have one of the egg heads from the Science Academy here to help pick this thing apart, but for now he only had his own skills to carry them, which were rudimentary by comparison. He looked up the action log and found that there have been none given since the radio tower was brought online to send out these pulses. Each time a pulse was sent, an error code returned saying only two units were responding. Coulson called back to Natasha.

“These computers are using the pulses to send some kind of message. I can't tell what but it's probably what fried all the cyborg-people.”

“Is it using the Stark tech we're looking for?” she whispered.

“I think so. Pop that panel off and see what you fan find.” he pointed to the five foot tall metal case to his left. “We're looking for a CPU of some kind... probably has 'Stark Industries' written all over it. I love that man, but he sprays his name all over everything he makes like a dog spraying piss. “ Natasha holstered her weapon, curled her finger around the edge of the panel and pulled.

As soon as the panel was clear of the housing, steam erupted from two of the coffins on the far side of the room. A pair of lithe figures rose out of the chambers and began stalking towards them, wreathed in steam and barely visible in the dim acid-green light. They were dressed in simple, black jumpsuits, but bits of glittering metal and blinking green lights were visible everywhere on their bodies.

“Shit.” Coulson said, scrambling to his feet, gun in hand. “Grab that CPU and the hard drive and run.”

But Romanoff was fixed to the spot, her eyes, turned preternaturally green in the artificial light, went wide in terror at the figures creeping towards them.

“Zinaida? Darya?” she squeaked out, her Russian accent returning to coil on her words like a snake.

“Sister.” They said together, halting side by side and cocking their heads like little dolls. Now that they were fully in the circle of light from the monitor, Coulson and Romanoff could see them more clearly. Their skin looked waxy and their faces and arms were studded with metallic ports and blinking lights. “Agent Romanova comma Natalia.” they spoke together. “Designation, Red Room Asset. Mission: Unknown. Has the Matron sent you to help us?”

“Natasha lets go.” Coulson said softly. “Grab anything out of that computer that says 'Stark' and run.” He was inching towards Clint to alert him, hopefully without spooking what apparently were two cyborg Red Room agents. Writing this field report was going to be amazing... if they all lived.

“No... no I work... no I'm...” Natasha tried to answer. She was still rooted to the floor. “What did they do to you?” she asked piteously.

“We were the start of the Propagation.” they replied in unison. “The others could not be assimilated and so they were purged. But we will find those compatible. You are likely. Because you are one of us.”

By now Clint had turned around and when he saw the Red Room agents he drew and aimed. They reached out their hands to Romanoff but she screamed. “No!” before digging her hands into the computer case and pulling the CPU and hard drive free of the housing. 

Sparks flew as the hardware came free. The Red Room agents shrieked like tight hinges and lunged after her.


	9. Run, run...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a massive TW for PTSD and panic attacks.
> 
> Thanks as always to my lovely family of beta-readers!
> 
> And thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated. Much love!

***

So much happened all at once when Natasha pulled the CPU. Sparks erupted from exposed wiring as the computer abruptly shut down. Barton screamed as his hearing aids reactivated. When the monitor blanked, the room was plunged into total darkness, lit only by the eerie lights on the bodies of the former Red Room assassins who lunged at Romanoff, murder etched in their dead-eyed faces. They all took off at a sprint, Coulson being ever so grateful that they'd talked through their escape plan before they'd actually needed it. At least now they had a destination as they tore out of the building with the pair of Red Room agents in hot pursuit.

“Did we get the tech?” Barton shouted.

“I think so!” Coulson responded, slinging a nearby barrel in the path of the door behind them.

“I have it.” Romanoff answered, revealing a chunk of computer hardware that she was clutching to her chest. “Or something of it at least.”

“Then go! I'll cover you” Barton instructed, allowing himself to fall behind.

“But-” Natasha started.

“You have what we came for. Fucking run!” Barton yelled. “I've got them.”

The pair of assassins skidded out of the building and into the street only a scant few steps behind them. They leaped over the barrel Coulson had thrown in their path with feline grace. Barton fired twice, one at each, and both arrows skidded off metallic plating apparently hidden under their skin.

“Jesus,” he swore, “Arrows not slowin' em down, boss.” He said turning and running in a dead sprint to catch up. “Remind me to talk to R&D about getting some kind of shock arrows. I bet those would take these bitches down in a heartbeat.”

“Less chatter. More arrows, birdbrain.”

“Right. On it!”

As they banked around the corner, Barton scampered up a drain pipe onto the roof, drawing one of the pair after him. He let fly four more arrows, two at a time, to no avail. They were either dodged or reflected by whatever cyborg parts they hit. 

“Fuck this.” Clint swore under his breath. He vaulted backwards across the gap to the next building hoping to give himself from distance, and pulled and fired an arrow with an incendiary tip. It succeeding in blowing one of the assassin's arms off and knocking her off the building, but did not dissuade her pursuit. Even with ribs and wiring exposed, she kept coming.

Back on the ground, Coulson and Romanoff weren't having much better luck. They were outpacing the assassins for now, but their strength was waning and their assailant's was not. Barton pulled another exploding arrow and fired it, this time aiming for her legs. Coulson and Romanoff ducked as the explosion took out their assailant's left knee, leaving her to crawl in the road.

“Note to self... I always need more exploding arrows.” Clint muttered.

That left only the assassin with the missing arm to deal with, and being down a limb didn't seem to be giving her any trouble. But by now the trio had reached the garage. Coulson and Romanoff barred the door behind them with a piece of pipe, and Barton let himself in through a hatch in the ceiling. But the door had a plate glass window that didn't hold for long. It shattered under the assault from the cyborg's reinforced arm, sending glass flying over Coulson and Romanoff. The Red Room agent came crawling through it, bloodless skin hanging in ribbons off her remaining limb.

“Sissssster...” she hissed at Romanoff, who had her back pressed against the Humvee door, transfixed with horror.

“ROMANOFF!” Coulson shouted, jarring her back to herself in time to see him toss her a pair of jumper cables. Deftly, she caught them and jammed them against the Red Room assassin's face, filling the garage with screams and the smell of burning synthetics. When the screaming stopped, Romanoff let the cables fall to the floor with an echoing clank.

“Barton, were we tailed by anyone else?” Coulson asked as the archer scrambled down from the rafters. It was a fight to keep his voice even.

“I didn't see anyone, sir.” Barton responded, piling into the Humvee they'd chosen.

“Is anyone hurt?” Coulson asked, eyes daring between them.

“Cuts from the glass.” Romanoff replied, showing a few thin lacerations on her arm and cheek. “Shouldn't need stitches.”

“Usual acrobatics bruises.” Barton shrugged.

“Then lets get the fuck out of here.” Coulson said, slinging himself into the passenger seat. “Barton, you drive. I'm going to radio headquarters and let them know what kind of day we've had and that we broke their plane. Romanoff-”

“I'll get in the back and keep watch. Make sure we aren't tailed.” She replied mechanically, hauling herself into the vehicle through the back hatch. She didn't even glance up at either of them.

Coulson and Barton exchanged worried looks but said nothing as they hopped into the front and hastened to put the compound in their rear view mirror.

***

“Well, I have good news and bad news.” Coulson said, after pulling the radio out of his ear.

“Hear that, Natasha? We get good news!” Barton called over his shoulder. She didn't answer.

Coulson glanced back to where she was sitting. She was unmoving, gaze unwavering in its scan of the road behind them. He cast another worried look to Barton before filling them in. “The safe house is closer than we thought, and it's been stocked recently.”

“What's the bad news?”

“Bad news is that there's a snowstorm with winds strong enough to prevent rescue moving in.”

“Of course there is.” Barton muttered. “Russia in winter, people. Look it up.”

“Pick up is at least 36 hours away. But, the safe house has food and central heating. Even hot water!”

“Oh, thank God.” Clint replied, relaxing back in the seat with a huge grin.

Romanoff still didn't reply.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, both of Coulson and Clint glancing nervously back periodically at Romanoff who was still keeping her vigil out the back window. She had the CPU beside her, one hand on it always. Coulson made a note that he might want to do one of his informal debriefs with her, just to see if that might wind her down. He hadn't really thought to ask what she might need or expect at the end of a mission. He had been too worried about contingencies on the front end.

But he never got the chance to ask her. No sooner had they hit the door of the safe house and set down their things, than Barton and Coulson heard a loud thud. Romanoff had collapsed against the wall and was slowly sliding down towards the floor.

“Shit.” Coulson swore softly, diving to catch her. “Natasha, Natasha, stay with me.” he said gently. He could feel her starting to shake under his hands and her eyes were scrunched shut. Shit. “Stay with me. We're going to walk to the couch.” he gripped her tight against his ribs and he could feel her beginning to shake more violently. “Clint, get under her other arm. That's it, Natasha. One foot in front of the other. Five more... Two more... Alright Clint, sit down with her.”

Clint, eyes wide and locked on Coulson's face, eased Natasha down onto the couch beside him. When Coulson released her arm, she clung to Clint, breath coming in short spasmodic pants.

“Natasha, look at me.” Phil said evenly, putting just a little even, easy authority into his voice. He was rewarded with her wide eyes locking on his face. “Natasha, I know what's happening is scary and feels terrible, but just keep your eyes on me. I'll talk you through this, okay?”

She nodded jerkily.

“Okay, I want you to breathe with me, okay? Nice and easy. Clint's got you, okay?”

“What is happening Phil?” Clint said, his voice small as he adjusted his grip on Natasha, who had knit her quivering fingers into the straps on his tac vest.

“She's having a panic attack.” Phil said, calmly. “We're going to help her through it. Just hold on to her like you're doing, unless she says otherwise. Don't worry, she's not in any danger.”

“N-no...” she stammered through gritted teeth. “Just... feel like I'm dying.”

“You won't for much longer.” Phil assured her. “Clint, I want you to take really slow deep breaths. Down into your ribs so she can feel them. Feel it, Natasha?”

She nodded again, snugging her body closer to Clint's.

“Breathe with him. Nice and slow. Did Dr. Barnes prescribe you anything to take during an attack?” Coulson asked.

Natasha shook her head as much as she could without removing it from Clint's shoulder. “Just... what you're doing.” she gasped. Then her face crumpled suddenly and she let out a pitiful sob. “I'm so sorry...”

“Shhh...” Clint soothed, smoothing her hair out of her face with his free hand and tucking her head under his chin. “You're fine. Just keep breathing.”

“You're doing great, Natasha.” Phil praised. “Can I take your pulse? See where we are?”

She nodded, extending her trembling wrist towards Phil. He took it, steadying it on his palm and pressing two fingers to her pulse and staring at his watch.

“Did... Dr. Barnes brief you on what to do if I... did this?” she asked, her voice a little stronger.

“No, I was just advised that when you first arrived at the Triskelion, you were having panic attacks pretty regularly.”

“You just... you're doing ex-exactly what Dr. Barnes did.”

“My squad leader in the Army Rangers had panic attacks.” Phil responded with a tight smile. “Hell, after our second tour in Afghanistan, nearly everyone had had at least one, including me.”

“You've had panic attacks boss?” Clint asked, frowning a little in surprise.

“Just one. Someone fired a camera flash by my head.” Phil said shaking his head slightly before smiling at Natasha. “Your breathing sounds easier and your heart rate doesn't feel like a jackhammer. Do something for me?”

“Mmhmm?” she nodded, still not freeing herself from Clint's side. “Take your finger and count out your breaths. Whatever feels comfortable. I'm going to go get us situated and report in at headquarters, okay. Clint, you've got her?”

“Yes, sir.” Clint said, giving him a look that spoke volumes more than those two little words.

Phil stood and headed off with their bags. Natasha, still seemingly velcroed to Clint, tapped out her breathing patterns onto his knee. As she counted her breaths, Clint alternated between petting her hair and rubbing slow circles on her upper back. Before long, the shaking subsided and her breathing evened out.

“You're sounding calmer.”

She nodded. “Do I need to move?”

“Not if you don't want to.”

She pressed her face against his chest and took a long slow breath. “I'm sorry...” she whispered again.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Natasha. We got out and we got the tech! Fury is going to be thrilled.”

“No, I just...” her voice trailed off as her throat clenched around a new flood of tears.

“Talk to me, Tasha.” he said softly, pulling her chin up so he could look into her face.

A smile flickered over her lips at the nick name, like a distant flash of lightning in a storm cloud. “Was that going to be me?” She asked, eyes shining. “Was... was I going to be like them? If you... you hadn't...”

“What? Wha-no... no, Natasha.” he said soothingly, bundling her even closer against him. He could feel that the shivering panic subsided into loose-limbed despair.

“What if they were going to send me there? What if-”

“Shhh... he soothed, combing his hand through her hair again. “They didn't. We got to you first.”

“You got to me first.” she corrected thickly, resting her counting hand on his chest. Its rhythm hadn't wavered in the slightest. “You got to me first, and if you hadn't, I'd either be dead or... or that.” Clint swallowed hard, not sure of what to say. Before he worked anything out, she shook her head. “I should probably get off of you, before Phil gets jealous.” She made no effort to actually move, however.

“He's not jealous.” Clint replied softly.

“He's... your boyfriend.” she answered simply, still not moving.

“And he isn't jealous.”

“He... wait. Present tense?”

“Yeah... he and I. We have a less than... conventional arrangement.” Clint smiled down at her as she looked up into his face, blinking with wonder. “I... we... we've talked about you. Actually. And I... well, now's not the best time but-”

“So he,” she cut him off, staring with confused wonder. “He wouldn't mind if... I...” she finished her sentence with the softest brush of a kiss. The first touch of their lips was brief and light as she leaned back to gauge his reaction. But she couldn't keep herself away for long. Her mouth worked easily, even delicately over his, and it left Clint vibrating in his own skin. Her panic episode had left her mouth branding-hot, and it took all of Clint's control not to throw her down on the couch.

“No, I will not mind.” Phil replied from the doorway, making them both jump. “Sorry. I like dramatic entrances.”

“I'm sorry... I... we should have talked... I...” Natasha stammered.

“Hey.” Phil said, crossing tot he kitchenette and filling a glass of water. “It's not like we've exactly had a chance to hash things out, even though you two have been hovering around each other since you got here.”

“You knew?” Natasha asked.

“I knew about Clint's feelings at least. You on the other hand... you're a great deal harder to read. Speaking of which...” He knelt in front of her, set the glass of water on the table and held out his hand. “May I check your pulse again, please.”

Natasha offered him her wrist, still not moving from Clint's side.

Phil frowned at his watch for a moment before giving her hand an affectionate squeeze. “Good! You don't sound like a hummingbird on crystal meth anymore.” Phil remarked, making Natasha crack a smile. “Do you feel up to food, or would you like to go lie down?”

“Sleep.” she said flatly, punctuating the statement with a yawn.

“Well, here, take this glass of water and go get yourself a shower. All your toiletries and clothes should be either in the bathroom or bedroom. You can have the bed.”

She nodded numbly and stood on shaky legs with Clint's help. She took the offered glass, and then picked her way carefully towards the bathroom. It didn't escape Phil's notice that she didn't break contact with Clint until he was completely out of reach.

When the door was closed behind her, Clint sighed and sat back on the couch. “I'm sorry.” He muttered as he swiped a hand over his face. “I didn't know she was going to-”

Phil cut him off with a wave. “If one more person says 'I'm sorry' today for something they didn't do, I swear I'm going to go insane.”

Clint looked up at him sheepishly. “Sorry?”

Phil snorted. “That's fair.” He leaned forward and kissed Clint, just a quick and reassuring brush of lips. “I love you. And I'm happy for you.”

Clint pressed his hand against Phil's where it rested on his cheek. “I love you too. And-” He was cut off again. This time it was by his stomach growling. “Yeah, she may not be hungry, but I need food. What is there?”

“The usual... MREs, protein bars, canned stuff.”

“Do they have the white chocolate and peanut butter bars?”

“I think so. Check the cupboard. And while you're up, I grabbed your pajamas out of your bag. They're on the back of the couch.”

“What's the word from back home?” Clint asked as he busied himself with getting changed and fed.

“Other than the loss of the QuinJet, they're very happy.”

“Yeah, I imagine we won't hear the end of that one for awhile.”

“Agreed, though they aren't upset at us. We were on target to the destination. They really didn't think those pulses were going to act like an EMP. I told them it fried everything. Even your hearing aids. Sounded like R&D wants to have a look at them when we get back. See if we can install some sort of preventative measure.”

“Any follow up ops?”

“Oh yeah. In fact, the transport being sent to fetch us is coming with the team that's going to go comb through the compound.”

“You did let them know that one of the members of Cyborg Red Room Assets-R-Us was still slightly operational, yes?”

“I did. They'll probably zap her from the air if they can find her.”

“ETA on pick up?” Clint asked, words garbled by a mouthful of protein bar.

“24 hours.”

“So we're sleeping out here?”

Phil nodded. “I figure it's best if we let her have the bed. She's going to be exhausted once all the adrenalin's out of her body.”

“Hell,” Clint scoffed. “I'm exhausted just from watching her. Those are really damn scary.”

“In all sincerity, I hope you never have to experience one. They're very frightening. You really do feel like you're dying.”

Clint shook his head as the door to the bedroom popped open. Natasha's face, framed by her damp curls, appeared in the doorway. “Hey guys.”

“Hey. Headed to bed?” Clint asked.

“Yeah... I...” she swallowed, staring intently at her hand where it rested on the door jamb. “I... have nightmares usually after I have panic attacks. Would... would... I just don't want to... I don't want to wake up alone and have another attack. It... sometimes happens that way.” Color crept into her pale cheeks.

“Sure, you want Clint to come stay with you? I can stay out here on the couch and-”

“No I... both of you. I...” she swallowed again, her blush deepening. “I don't... I hate to impose because I'm shaky but I just would feel better if you were both there. Just... in case. I'm... I'm scared something is going to happen to one of us.”

“Okay. Let us both grab a quick shower, and then we'll join you. Okay?” Phil said, giving her an easy smile.

Natasha nodded and stepped back into the bedroom, leaving the door ajar.

Phil and Clint took care of their before-bed business and then quietly padded in to join Natasha. She was sitting cross-legged on the bedspread staring out the window at the snow that had begun to blow around outside. She turned to look at them as they entered, somehow managing to look both relieved and guilty.

“Where do you want us?” Clint said, already moving up her left side. The bed was sized for two agents to share it. Three was going to be... cozy.

Natasha pulled back the covers and shimmied down, tugging Clint in behind her. As he went, he pulled out both hearing aids and set them on the table. Natasha watched that movement with a kind of reverence filling her eyes. She knew she was seeing something that was rarely viewed by anyone other than Phil. As Clint settled behind her, Phil stepped around to the right side but only stood there, unsure of what she wanted. She guided him into the bed to face her, sliding her hand over his where it rested on the pillow as she pulled Clint's arm tight around her. Then, she began to tap out her breathing pattern onto the back of Phil's hand. They both shared small, intimate smiles before the rhythm lulled them all into the embrace of sleep.


	10. I'll Take You to the Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter is NSFW and does have some mention of panic attacks/PTSD. 
> 
> Many thanks to my wonderful family of beta readers. You guys are the best.
> 
> And also thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy!

***

Phil wasn’t sure how long they had been asleep. Only that when he woke again, it was fully dark outside and the snow storm had begun in earnest. The wind howled overhead, occasionally hard enough to make the window, now half obscured with snow, give a shuddering rattle. The only other sound was the even, easy purr of Clint’s snoring.

In the dim light peeking through the cracked bathroom door, Phil could see Natasha’s eyes were open and fresh tear tracks painted her cheeks. She stared out at nothing, gaze cast down where her hand rested on his. He shifted so that his hand covered hers, the movement drawing her eyes up to his face. She blinked damply for a few seconds before whispering.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, the storm woke me.” Phil replied. “You have a nightmare?”

She gave a saturated sniff and nodded, looking away again. “I guess if we talk, we won’t wake Clint?”

“After an op, it would take a bomb dropping on the headboard to wake him up, hearing aids or no.” 

She smiled a little at that. “He a heavy sleeper after an op?”

“That’s an understatement.” Phil whispered with a fond grin.

Her smile twisted then, into something heartbreakingly sad. She seemed to shrink down into the pillows, her thoughts curling in on themselves and stealing all the light from her eyes. Phil was fairly certain he heard his heart crack at the sight.

“What is it, Natasha?” Phil said, caressing her knuckles with his calloused thumb.

She scrunched her eyes closed against a new wave of tears. “I like it here.” she breathed, her voice barely audible over a restrained sob.

“With S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Phil asked.

She shook her head, tears spilling out onto her still damp hair. “No, here. With you.” she said brokenly. “With Clint… and you. You've both been so... gentle with me, I guess? I can’t… I can’t even make sense, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Natasha. Talk to me…”

She sucked in another shuddering breath and swallowed hard to steady herself. “I just… Clint is so… and you… and I just I don’t want to impose. Or not… I don’t know.” she trailed off miserably.

“You’re not imposing. I've seen the way the two of you look at each other when you think no one is watching.” Phil said, smiling warmly and propping himself up on one elbow. “If you and Clint want to explore… options, I guess you’d call it? For the two of you? You have my blessing. You make him really happy, you know.”

She smiled at that but only briefly. “What… what if there were other options I wanted to explore as well?” she replied, choosing her words with obvious care as she curled her fingers up to entwine with his.

“Wha- Me?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She smiled a little more at his surprise. “When I said I liked it here, I didn’t just mean Clint.” She answered, knitting her fingers through Clint’s where his hand rested on her stomach. “But I’m afraid of… imposing where I’m not wanted. In... in a way that I'm not wanted.” 

Phil drug her hand that was nested in his to his chest with a look of joyous bewilderment. “You’re not imposing, Natasha. I suppose… we’ll have to have a talk. All three of us but… you’re not imposing. I just... didn't consider that you would be at all interested in me. Not with the Amazing Hawkeye in contention.”

Her eyes lit up then and she leaned in catching his mouth with hers. Phil barely moved or breathed, just letting her lips and her hands wander over his face and neck, as if the slightest motion might make this dissolve into the fitful dreams he had just woken from. When his eyes opened next he saw Clint’s face peeking blearily over her shoulder before he smiled indulgently and buried his face in her hair. She broke the kiss with Phil when she felt the movement and turned back to gaze uncertainly at Clint.

“I didn't mean to crash your party.” Clint said voice rough with sleep. “Do I...?” he jerked his thumb towards the front room.

“Don't go.” Phil signed before Natasha leaned back to kiss Clint. At first it was gentle and chaste, which caught him by surprise, but soon she collapsed against the pillows, pulling him with her. For Phil, this was a beautiful sight. One that he had hoped to catch a glimpse of some time down the road, but never dreamed it would be this soon and he'd thought it too much to hope that he would get to be a participant.

Clint let his lips crawl down her neck, and Natasha pulled Phil in for another kiss. He could feel her lips curling in a barely repressed smile as she licked into his mouth like a cat lapping at cream. When Clint reached the collar of her shirt he looked up at Phil. “You're going to have to do the negotiating, babe.” he said, still nuzzling against the hollow of her throat.

Phil nodded and collected his thoughts as he knit his hand in hers. He kissed each of her knuckles in turn before asking “What do you want, Natasha? From us, I mean. We don't want to overstep.”

She shook her head, a little dazed at the question. “I... everything you want to give me.”

Phil smiled as he traced a fingertip from her temple to her jaw. “Tell us if you get overwhelmed. Want to take a break, or stop all together. Okay?”

She nodded shakily, fighting to not be distracted by Phil's caresses and Clint mouthing at her collar bones through the thin material of her t-shirt. He glanced up at Phil seeking an answer to his question. Phil just shrugged before cupping the back of Natasha's head and pulling her in for another languorous kiss.

The three of them became a tangle of wandering hands and lips. Phil was fascinated by Natasha's hair, letting her tresses tumble over his fingers as he peppered her lips with kisses. Clint was far more bold, his hands finding their way under the hem of her shirt as she arched back against his chest. He palmed her breasts, feeling their weight and softness in his hands before he began teasing her nipples with his calloused fingers. Natasha couldn't make up her mind, caught between wanting to press as much of herself against Clint as she could, and wanting to curl around Phil as he learned the texture of every auburn curl.

As Clint's hands began to climb up her body, Natasha divested herself of her t-shirt, and Phil couldn't suppress a hungry little gasp. She gave him a small, kittenish smile as she tugged his shirt over his head as well, being sure to let her nails trail down his chest as she did. He carefully reached out to caress her breasts, almost as if he were afraid her skin might burn him. The first brush of his fingers on her nipples had her arching into his hands. Clint followed her, sandwiching her between them as he reached over to grip Phil's hip. 

She turned onto her back, smiling up at him and then at Phil, looking more peaceful than they had ever seen her. Phil caught Clint's eyes and leaned in to kiss him before returning his attention to Natasha's body. Clint tugged his shirt off before sliding down for another kiss. 

Natasha was lost in the sensation of it all, desperate to learn each quirk and desire of her partners. And they kept surprising her. Where she had expected Clint to be passionate and amorous, he had been gentle and even a little tentative. And while Phil had tiptoed at first, now his firm grip on her body was solid. She felt secure and grounded between the two of them, which was a very new sensation. 

She could also feel their arousal growing in tandem with her own. Phil was visibly tenting the front of his sleep pants, and Clint was barely able to keep his desire to grind against her hip in check. She shifted slightly as she palmed both their erections, making them groan aloud together. Phil and Clint's eyes met again, and the could only watch as the other was pleasured, their faces slackened with want.

“Pants off.” she whispered huskily, giving Phil a moment to translate to Clint before shucking off her sleep pants. They sat up on the bed and followed suit, but she placed a hand on each of their shoulders, keeping them on their knees in front of her. She slid her hands down their chests, reveling in the physical differences between them. The curl of Phil's chest hair versus the smooth bare skin of Clint's chest. The taut angles of Clint's muscles against the leaner lines of Phil's physique. They both hissed and moaned as she took their cocks in each hand, first gripping loosely around their shafts before curling her fingers along the underside in feather-light strokes.

She leaned up, kissing them each in turn before she crouched down and, looking Clint square in the eye, licked a long, hot stripe up the underside of his cock. The sound he made was wordless and obscene, but no more so than the groan that the same lick elicited from Phil when it was his turn. She traded back and forth between them, lavishing them with kisses and strokes and gentle licks until she decided to get to work in earnest. 

She swallowed Clint down first without ceremony or warning, keeping her right hand busy slowly stroking her other partner. Clint gasped, gripping Phil's shoulder to keep himself upright. Her mouth was hot and so perfect. Phil watched as Clint's expression went slack with pleasure. It was by far one of the hottest things he had ever seen and he couldn't resist leaning over and kissing him reveling in the sound and feel of Clint moaning into his mouth.

When Natasha felt Clint starting to shiver with the effort of keeping still, she relented and switched to Phil, sucking his cock down to the root and making him moan her name in a way that made her blood boil with arousal. It was Clint's turn to watch as she pleasured Phil and it was an overwhelming sight. His lover with the woman he fell for the instant he saw her in Moscow, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Phil moaned and shook with the effort of staying still as she sucked him with hollowed cheeks. Between ragged gasps and stolen kisses, Clint signed and spoke. “I want... I want both of you.”

Natasha pulled off of Phil's cock to look up at them and smiled, making a show of licking pre-come off her lips. They both looked wrecked... clinging to each other, lips slick and swollen, and eyes blown black with desire. “I would like that very much.” she replied.

“First things first.” Phil signed and then gestured for Natasha to lie back. She obliged, pulling Clint with her. Clint pooled himself against her side, capturing her lips in his and tasting a little of Phil's pre-come on her tongue as Phil settled himself between her legs.

Phil mouthed around on the arches of her hipbones, and kissed a shivery trail up the inside of each of her thighs. Then, with a single, firm stroke of his tongue, Phil parted the wonderfully musky cleft between her legs. She twisted in Clint's hands, keening high in her throat and clinging to him. Phil repeated the motion, more delicately this time before burying his face against the russet curls wreathing her pussy and licking deep inside.

Her body rolled against Clint in response, seeking more sensation. Phil's lips were busy kissing her clit as he slid one hand up her back and curled one finger along her entrance. She moaned something in Russian against the hollow of Clint's throat. Phil took it as an encouragement and added a second finger, dipping deeper and deeper on each pass. She began to quake, digging the nails of one hand into Phil's arm and the other biting into Clint's back. She came with a sharp, breathy cry, clinging to them as if the climax might shake her apart.

As she wound back down, Phil crawled up her body, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses in his wake.”I really need to learn Russian, don't I.” he said flatly, making the question a dry statement. Natasha gave a very shaky laugh in response as Clint leaned over to kiss Phil, dragging his tongue slowly over his bottom lip to steal a taste of Natasha from him. 

“You don't want to know what I said.” she told him arching up for a kiss of her own from Phil.

“Oh, I bet that I do.” he responded darkly before signing to Clint. “Grab the lube out of my bag.” 

Clint nodded and stole a quick kiss from both of them before rolling gracelessly out of bed in the direction of the duffel bags. When he returned, bottle in hand, he was absolutely arrested by the sight that awaited him in the bed. Phil had draped himself behind Natasha and was laying a trail of nibbling kisses from her ear to her wrist. Each soft scrape of his teeth drew a filthy mewling sound from her lips. She saw Clint staring and smiled at him.

“What?” she signed, her movement making Phil look up as well, peering at Clint over the bend of Natasha's shoulder. His pupils were shot wide with desire and he had that feral look never failed to make Clint weak in the knees.

“I just wish you could see yourselves.” he signed numbly, with what he was sure was a dumb grin on his face.

Phil and Natasha just reached for him, piling him into the middle and curling around him on both sides.

“Will this arrangement be alright, Natasha?” Phil asked as he clicked the cap of the bottle open.

She nodded as she stared up into Clint's face. He was still dumbfounded and she set to kissing that look of wonder off his face as Phil slicked up his fingers. Clint gasped against her mouth as Phil began slowly working him open. Natasha slid her hand back down to his cock, catching Phil's rhythm and forcing Clint to choose between the desire to thrust into her palm and the urge to grind down onto Phil's fingers.

After a few moments, Phil peeked over Clint's shoulder at Natasha. “Ask him if he's ready for me, Natasha. I'm... I've got my hands full at the moment.” Phil said huskily, giving her a filthy smile.

She laughed and signed his question to Clint who let out a very breathy “Fuck yes.” punctuating his words with a long roll of his hips back towards Phil's hand.

“Alright,” Phil said, taking himself in hand and giving his length a few lubricating strokes. “I'll go first.” He lined himself up with Clint's entrance and slid slowly into the tight heat of his partner's body. All the air rushed out of Clint's body as he pitched forward to press his face against Natasha's collarbone. She caught his head in her hands, watching as sparks of pleasure flickered through his eyes. Phil placed a steadying hand on her hip and nodded to Natasha before turning his attention, and his lips, to the nape of Clint's neck.

She swung one leg over Clint's hip to wrap around both of them, before she slid down his length, a growling moan escaping her throat as he sank into the flushed wetness of her body. For a moment they lay there frozen, locked together and shivering in their skin, savoring the sensation of being surrounded and supported by one another. Hands flitted over sensitive skin, and little gasps escaped them as shivers made them shift inside and around one another.

Then Phil moved, giving a shallow, dragging roll of his hips that had Clint moaning and pushing deeper into the silken heat of Natasha's body. Phil reached across Clint to cling to Natasha's hip pulling her farther down on Clint's cock with each thrust. She moaned brokenly and trembled as she looked up into Clint and Phil's faces. She found nothing but warmest love there. No one had ever looked at her that way. She was not made to be looked at that way. Tears rushed into her eyes before she could think to stop them, but Clint kept them from falling. He wiped her eyes, and kissed her cheeks and Phil reached up to card her hair out of her face.

“We've got you.” Clint whispered roughly, his words wreathed in tiny pleasured sounds. “And more importantly, you've got us. Okay?”

She nodded, smiling a little at how ridiculously emotional she had suddenly become. Phil caught the rhythm again that had them all blissfully colliding together and they became lost in the wonderful sensation of each other. Everything was warm, and wet, and moving... their mouths, and their bodies, and their hands.

It wasn't long before Natasha was swearing in Russian again, the purr of her words arcing bolts of arousal through her partners. It wasn't long before hips were stuttering, and grips were tightening. Natasha went first, her climax crackling through her like a bolt of lightning that sent her arching against Clint. Clint didn't last a second longer when he felt her pussy tightening around him. He thrust himself himself tightly inside Natasha as he filled her with a hot rush of come. Phil followed closely after, shivering and sighing their names as they relaxed into a pile of shivery limbs and smiling faces.

Clint flopped onto his back, using one of their shirts to clean himself up before pulling Phil and Natasha in close next to him. He reveled in the feel of the solid weight of Phil on one side, and the supple body of Natasha on his other. If there was a heaven, this was certainly it. Though he was fairly certain this wasn't how you got to heaven.

Phil pulled the blanket over them before sinking down beside his boyfriend. “We will need to talk,” He said, choosing to speak and sign. Both his voice and his gestures were a little sloppy. Natasha nodded rubbing her cheek against Clint's chest.

“Sleep first.” Clint signed before flopping both arms around his partners, satisfied that everyone was in agreement.

They were quiet for a moment, Clint already drifting off to the tune of tiny little snores that escaped his throat. Natasha and Phil stayed awake a little longer, drifting through the aftershocks and experimentally knitting their hands together.

“Phil?” she asked softly.

“Yes, Natasha?”

“How do you sign 'I love you.'?”

“Like this.” he showed her with his pinky, first finger, and thumb extended. She thought for a moment before mimicking the gesture and resting it on Clint's chest. 

Phil covered it with his hand and smiled. “How do you say 'I love you.' in Russian?”

She smiled, tears stinging her eyes again. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” she whispered.

“Ya tebya... lyublyu.” Phil said, laughing a little at how clumsy it was on his lips. He smiled at her warmly, his eyes shining a little when he saw it reflected in Natasha's face. “It's a start.” he whispered.

She nodded, her knuckles whitening around his hand. “It's a start.” she echoed.


	11. The Only Love I've Ever Known

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for discussion of past panic attacks and PTSD.
> 
> Well, here we are! The end at last!
> 
> Many thanks and much love to my family of beta readers. You guys rock my face.
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos, and commented. I hope you've enjoyed my little indulgence into Avengers-Poly-land. Feedback is always appreciated, and thank you for reading!

***

“And last but not least, the Amazing Hawkeye.” Fury announced as Clint slipped in the open door, giving a warm smile to Coulson as he exited the briefing room.

“I prefer Legendary, if you please.” Clint replied with a dramatically luxuriant bow. He heard Phil let out a shout of laughter before the door closed completely.

To his credit, Fury actually smiled. “Take a seat, bird brain, and lets get this over with.” he said extending a hand with an indulgent grin.

“First time you've ever debriefed me, sir.” Clint said sliding into the chair across the table from Fury. “At least... since that rather unscheduled debrief when I decided to start asset shopping for you.”

“I'll be gentle.” Fury smirked, as he flipped the file open in front of him. “Since this op went so far off the reservation, I wanted to take care of this personally. Especially since it involved my new specialist team.”

“I understand.” he shrugged.

“I'm glad I debriefed Coulson first, since he informed me that the decision to enter the compound was his. I would be lying if I said that it didn't make me afraid of a pattern forming for you.”

“That is correct. It was Coulson's call.” Barton confirmed.

“Did you have any reservations about the decision to go into the complex?”

“Only that I was without my hearing aids.” Clint replied. “But it didn't slow us down. I had taught Romanoff some sign language, with a particular focus on what would be useful in the field. If we hadn't all been able to communicate, I would have been more concerned.”

Fury nodded, clearly satisfied. “I understand you saw some disturbing things in that compound.”

“That's an understatement. It was some kind of... cybernetic community. Sort of had a vibe like one of those weird cults. Plus, everyone had computery bits.” he wiggled his fingers in the air.

“And everyone was dead.”

“Except the scary cyborg Red Room agents.” Clint pointed out. “I mean, seriously. In retrospect it's sort of awesome. You can't make this shit up. But in the moment... yeah not so much.”

“You were not at all prepared to encounter resistance like that.”

“Not in the slightest. That was definitely the most distressing thing. Especially for Romanoff. She held it together in the field but the instant we hit that safe house, she cracked.”

“She had a panic attack.” Fury clarified, and Barton nodded. “Are you still comfortable working with her, knowing that she has such serious previous trauma? And that reactions like that may be the norm?”

“I am.” Clint affirmed. “I feel like this was a very unique incident. There was no way we could have guessed what was waiting for us. And it brought up a lot of concerns that I think Romanoff has kept buried.”

“Like what?”

Clint stared off into the corner of the room. “She's... worried about how she fits in. What we want from her. Why...” he trailed off.

“Why what, Barton?” Fury pressed, his voice firm but not unkind.

“Why I saved her. Why we let her be saved.”

“Why did you?” Fury leaned back in this chair, steepling his fingers together. “I don't think I ever actually got an answer on that.”

Barton was uncharacteristically silent for a long while, lips pressed together in thought. “I saw that... she wanted out.” he shrugged. “And she wanted out so badly that she didn't care if “out” was an arrow in the eye socket. She didn't even know that there was another option. Somehow to her, I was inevitable. And I think... I think she's only just learning that it's not.”

“And I have a feeling part of that lesson has nothing to do with that badge on her belt.” Fury said, arching his eyebrow.

Clint smiled and looked up at him guiltily.

“Coulson told me.” Fury informed him gently.

“Of course he did.” Clint smirked.

“It's very unconventional, but I have a feeling that is about to be the name of the game. So I'm going to let it stand as long as it's never a problem. And since neither you or Coulson have caused me any headaches in that department, I trust that record will continue.” Fury said, flipping the folder closed and standing. “Thank you for your service, Agent Barton. If you don't have anything else for me, you're dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir.” Clint said, rising in turn and heading for the door. But he paused with his hand on the knob. “Actually... May I ask a question, Director?”

His uncharacteristic formality made Fury stand a little straighter. “Of course, Agent.”

“Did you know then, sir? What would happen?” he asked with an uncharacteristically shy smile. 

“Y'know, I get asked that a lot. Usually by Coulson.” Fury mused. “I'll tell you what I always tell him. I hope for the best, and make do with what I get. Sometimes the gamble pays out. This time I got Strike Team Delta. The finest tactician in US military history. A marksman without peer. And an assassin that could probably kill me with a piece of scotch tape. You all coordinate and improvise like you've been working together for years. Even in the midst of major unexpected hurdles. It is even greater than my wildest hope.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don't thank me yet, Agent, because I hope you are ready to get to work.”

“Only after our mandatory two week R&R.” Barton replied with a sly smile. “Call it... a honeymoon.”


End file.
